





pi'^ii?is-ii^ 



i?!-;'!^--r 






yim 






mms^ 



'^^k:0^::^lC: 



,'Ti^'\^ '^ '' 



\. ' 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

©i^sjt. ...... @0p?rig^ fu 

Shelf..ZD-2^- 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 



PROLEGOMENA 



TO 



IN MEMORIAM 



7' 



THOMAS DAVIDSON 



WITH AN INDEX TO THE POEM 



S 'io era sol di me quel che creasti 
Novellamente, Amor che '1 ciel governi, 
Tu '1 sai, che col tuo lume mi levasti. 

Dante 



k^ O^ 



^^^^^^3 




^^^^^^^^g 


i 


^^^^^1^^^^^ 


1 


i&iftt®g#i 



.^^ 



^YOFCO/V^ 






BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 



c^ 



iv Preface. 

haps give my essay a pedantic air. If so, my 
excuse is this : I wished to show that lit 
Memoriam hes in the chief current of the 
world's thought, since otherwise it would not 
be a world-poem. For, as George Buchanan 
says, 

" Sola doctorum monumenta vatum 
Nesciunt Fati imperium severi ; 
Sola contemnunt Phlegethonta et Orci 
Jura superbi." 

Tennyson is indeed " the heir of all the ages." 
The roots of his thought have struck down 
deep into the universal thought, into the 
Logos. 

The Index is mainly a copy of one pub- 
lished in 1862 by Moxon & Co., of London. I 
have merely corrected a few errors, shortened 
many of the quotations, and adapted the 
whole to the later editions of the poem. In 
these there is an additional ode, No. XXXIX. 
Persons using the Index along with the earlier 
editions must add one to the number of every 
ode after the thirty-eighth. 

Thomas Davidson. 

New York, February ij, i88g. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Introduction. (Prologue.) i 

The Decay and Restoration of Faith. The Nature of 
Faith and its Relation to Understanding. 

Chapter I. (i-viii.) 27 

The poet justifies his grief, describes its effects, ex- 
plains why he writes of it, refuses cheap consolation, 
and seeks only to embalm the past. 

Chapter II. (ix-xxi.) 30 

The circumstances of the friend's death, the return of 
the body to England, and its burial. 

Chapter III. (xxii-xxvii.) 33 

The friendship for the dead. Its reality and blessed- 
ness. Not to be quenched by time or sorrow. 

Chapter IV. (xxviii-xxxvii.) 35 

Turning from the past to the future. The immortality 
of the soul. The hope coming from revelation con- 
firmed by reason. Reason and Revelation. 

Chapter V. (xxxviii-xlviii.) 41 

The simple conviction of immortality does not satisfy 
the heart, which desires to realize immortal life and 
communicate with the departed. Metempsychosis. 

Chapter VI. (xlix-lviii.) 49 

More problems. The problem of Evil and Death. 
The conflict of Nature and Faith. 

Chapter VII. (lix-lxxi.) 58 

Acceptance of Sorrow, as a chastener. Hope. Play 
of the fancy. Visions of sleep and waking. 
Chapter VIII. (Ixxii-lxxvii.) . ' . . . -63 
What his friend might have been. Vanity of fame and 
of monuments. 



vi Contents, 

Chapter IX. (Ixxviii-lxxxiii.) 67 

Sorrow woven into life. The example of the friend 
followed. The moral world reconstructed. 

Chapter X. (Ixxxiv-lxxxix.) 71 

The " low beginnings of content," resulting in (i) ac- 
ceptance of loss, (2) new attachments, (3) power to 
dwell with pleasure in the past. 

Chapter XI. (xc-xcvi.) 78 

Desire still to see the friend in any form. Difficulties. 
Trance. Ecstatic union with the glorified spirit. 
Vision of truth. Doubt. 

Chapter XII. (xcvii-ciii.) 91 

The presence of the lost one, as a universal spirit, 
begins to be felt, though only at times. The old 
sore still easily opened. A happy, significant dream. 

Chapter XIII. (civ-cxiv.) 96 

Though our life at present is full of disappointment 
and sorrow, the poet will embrace it, and let sorrow 
make him wise. The wisdom buried with his friend. 
Knowledge and Wisdom. 

Chapter XIV. (cxv-cxxiv.) 104 

The return of spring reawakens hope, which soon ~ 
ripens into faith and confidence. 

Chapter XV. (cxxv-cxxxi.) 112 

Faith, Hope, and Love all intact. The greatest is 
Love, without which Faith would be weak. 

Chapter XVI. (Epilogue.) 120 

The New Life, full of joy and assurance. The Divine 
Process. Conclusion. 
Index to In Memoriam 125 



PROLEGOMENA TO IN 
MEMORIAM. 



INTRODUCTION. 

Prologue. 

The Decay and Restoration of Faith. The 
Nature of Faith and its Relation to Under- 
standing. 

Out of original character, instruction, and 
experience every human being builds up his 
own moral world, an ideal order of things 
which imparts to his actions whatever ration- 
ality and aim they may possess. Upon the 
world thus created everything in his life de- 
pends, his optimism or pessimism, his happi- 
ness or misery. If his world is rational, in- 
spiring faith and courage, by offering motives 
for continuous, enthusiastic activity, his life, 
whatever may befall, is a blessed unity. If, 
on the contrary, his world fails to disclose any 
purpose, any reason why one course of action 
should be preferred to another, anything worthy 
of supreme love and devotion, life is fragment- 
ary, feeble, and, when temperament fails, miser- 
able. Success in life, in the deepest sense, de- 
pends upon his power to build up and sustain 
an aimful and consistent moral world. 



2 Introduction. 

Unfortunately, such a world, even after it 
has been built up, may be destroyed, and no 
greater disaster can happen to any man,-^ In 
such an event, the will is paralyzed, and life 
loses meaning and direction." And, since a 
man's moral world is the response to his whole 
moral nature, including three elements, insight, 
love, and energy, the catastrophe may come 
through the failure of any one of these, that is, 
through doubt, widowed or blasted affection, 
or unavailing activity. The world of a Faust 
is shattered by the first, that of a Tennyson 
by the second, that of a Charles Albert by the 
third. 

A shattered moral world means a world with- 
out rationality or aim. Now the postulates of 
the reason, as Kant has shown, are God, Free- 
dom, Immortality. Let a man doubt whether 
there be any moral law in the world, whether 
he be free to obey such law, or whether obedi- 
ence to that law will result in good, and dis- 
obedience in evil, to him, and his moral world 
is wrecked. Life, offering no motive for moral 
action, is not worth living. 

In Memoriam is the record of the shattering 
and rebuilding of a moral world in a man's 

^ Admirably brought out in Frances Browne's Losses. 
2 As Tennyson puts it {l7t Me?n., iv. i), 

" My will is bondsman to the dark ; 
I sit within a helmless bark." 



Introduction. 3 

soul. It belongs to the same class of works 
as the Divine Coiriedy and Faust ; only, whereas 
the first of these, despite its title, is epic, and 
the second dramatic, this is lyric. The hero 
of In Memoriam, like the hero of the Divine 
Comedy, is the poet himself. Both poems are 
idealized records of actual experiences. In 
both the person beloved dies young, leaving 
the lover for a time utterly desolate. In both 
cases this desolation, instead of overwhelming 
the lover, finally quickens his spiritual percep- 
tions, so that he is enabled to find in the 
spiritual world what he has lost in the material 
one, to recover in incorruption what he has 
lost in corruption. In both cases, a pure, rev- 
erent human love leads the soul of the lover 
up to God. Tennyson's Arthur does for the 
deeply religious and cultivated man of the 
nineteenth century what Dante's Beatrice did 
for the similarly endowed man of the four- 
teenth. Dante finds again his lost Beatrice in 
the imaginary paradise of his time ; Tenny- 
son finds his Arthur " mix'd with God and Na- 
ture." In both poems, the Divine Comedy and 
In Memoj'iam, the fundamental thought is the 
same : Man's true happiness consists in the 
perfect conformity of his will to the divine will, 
and this conformity is attained through love, 
first of man, and then of God. " Our wills 
are ours to make them thine " is the modern 



4 Introduction. 

rendering of "E la sua voluntade e nostra 
pace."^ 

In Memoriam naturally suggests the Platonic 
Sonnets of Shakespeare (I.-CXXVI.) ; but 
there is really no more than a most superficial 
resemblance between the two works, due to 
the fact that both are addressed by one man to 
another. In Shakespeare's Sonnets there is no 
rising from flesh to spirit, only a series of love- 
vicissitudes. The truth is. In Me??io?'ia?n bears 
about the same relation to Shakespeare's Son- 
nets as the Divine Comedy does to Petrarch's. 

In In Memoriam the poet's moral world is 
shattered by widowed affection, by the loss 
of a beloved friend, in whom he had found 
that brother, that more-than-brother,^ through 
whose lovableness he was able to comprehend 
the divine lovableness,^ in a word, to see God.'* 

1 Paradise, iii. 85. Compare the last lines of the 
poem. 

'^ "More than my brothers are to me," ix. 5; Ixxix. i. 

^ He that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, 
cannot love God whom he hath not seen. — i John iv. 21. 

* " The expression of an eye, 
Where God and Nature met in light." (cxi. 5.) 

" Though mix'd with God and Nature thou, 
I seem to love thee more and more." (cxxx. 3.) 

Cf. what Dante says of Beatrice {Vita Nuova, cap. 
xxvi.). 

" Ella sen va, sentendosi laudare, 

Benignamente d' umilta vestuta ; 



Introduction. 5 

This loss and the ensuing grief and darkness 
of soul raised in the poet's mind doubts with 
regard to the righteousness or moral govern- 
ment of the world, and robbed life of its mean- 
ing. The poem describes in detail the nature 
of these doubts, and the process by which they 
were ultimately dispelled, and faith in God, 
Freedom, and Immortality was restored. 

The philosophic meaning of the poem is 
summed up in the prologue, written in 1849. 
This takes the form of an address or prayer 
to " immortal Love," the " strong Son of God," 
the author of all things in heaven and in earth, 
of life and of death, the source of that justice 
which makes life rational. Tennyson, like 
Dante,^ holds that the efficient cause of the 
universe is love, and that life without love is 
worse than death. '^ Nor is the divine love 

E par che sia una cosa venuta 

Di cielo in terra a miracol mostrare," 

and what Emerson says to his friend in " Friendship " : 

"Through thee alone the sky is arched, 
Through thee the rose i=i red. 
All things through thee take nobler form, 
And look beyond the earth ', 
The mill-round of our fate appears 
A sun-path in thy worth." 

1 " L'amor che muove il sole e I'altre stelle." Farad. , 
last line. 

2 See xxvi. 3, 4. Compare Aristotle's words: " With- 
out friends no one would choose to live, though he pos- 
sessed all other good things." Nik. Et/i., viii. i : 1155^, 



6 Introduction. 

which made and sustains the universe differ- 
ent in kind from human love. 

" Thou seemest human and divine, 
The highest, holiest, manhood, thou." 

We may, therefore, trust the divine love for all 
that we should expect from the highest human 
love, and more. The universe will satisfy the 
three postulates of the reason. 

(i.) It will be governed by a moral law far 
more perfect than any that can be expressed 
in human systems. 

" Our httle systems have their day ; 

They have their day and cease to be : 
They are but broken lights of thee. 
And thou, O Lord, art more than they." ^ 

5 sq. Also Fichte's : " Life is love ; and the whole form 
and force of life consist in love, and arise out of love." 
Way to a Blessed Life, Lect. i. This doctrine may be 
said to be fundamental in Aryan thought. The Veda 
tells us, speaking of creation : — 

" Then first came Love upon it, the new spring 
Of mind — yea, poets in their hearts discerned, 
Pondering, this bond between created things 
And uncreated." 

Hesiod makes Love ("E/jws) the child of Chaos and the 
brother of Earth (Theog., 120) ; and Parmenides, speak- 
ing of Genesis, says : — 

" Foremost of gods she gave birth unto Love ; yea, foremost of all 
gods." 

See Plato, Sympos.,\']Z B. And who does not remember 
the glorious address to Venus, as the author of all life, 
in the exordium of Lucretius' poem } 

1 Compare the words uttered by Herakleitos, five 



Introduction. y 

(2.) It will leave the human will free, even 
though reason may be unable to see how ; but 
that freedom will be secured only by conform- 
ity to the divine will. 

" Our wills are ours, we know not how ; 
Our wills are ours, to make them thine." 1 

(3.) It will make possible a conscious im- 
mortality for the individual. Our sense of 
justice demands this. 

"Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: 

Thou madest man, he knows not why ; 
He thinks he was not made to die ; 
And thou hast made him : thou art just." 

But all these things, the poet admits, are 
only postulates of reason, matters of faith, not 
objects of understanding or knowledge. 

" We have but faith : we cannot know; 
For knowledge is of things we see ; 
And yet we trust it comes from thee, 
A beam in darkness : let it grow." 

This verse contains the whole gist of the 

hundred years before our era: "All human laws are fed 
by one, the divine. For it prevaileth as far as it listeth, 
and sufficeth for all, and surviveth all." (Frag., xci. 
edit. By water.) 

* Cf. " Anzi e formale ad esto beato esse 
Tenersi dentro alia divina voglia. 
Perch' una fansi nostre voglie stesse. 

E la sua voluntade e nostra pace." 

Divina Cammed., Parad., iii. 7^ sqq. 



8 Introduction. 

poem, which might very well have for its sec- 
ond title, "The Decay and Revival of Faith." 
Since, then, faith is the source of all those 
convictions which give life its meaning, we 
must here stop and carefully inquire : What is 
faith? How does it stand related to know- 
ledge ? What are its credentials ? These are 
all one question under different aspects. 

Faith (TTiVrt?), as a philosophic term, seems 
to have been first employed by Parmenides. 
It occurs in his extant fragments twice, and 
each time means direct intellectual intuition 
of necessary truth, as opposed to mere con- 
tingent opinion, arrived at through the medium 
of sensuous experience or moral persuasion. 

The passages are these : — 
(i) " Thou needs must investigate all things, 

First the errorless core of the truth that lightly persuad- 

eth, 
Then the oj^inions of mortals, where no Xme faith doth 
inhabit " 

(2) " Ne'er will the potence of faith admit that from 

being proceedeth 
Aught but itself." 

Faith, then, according to Parmenides, instead 
of being something inferior to empirical know- 
ledge, which "is of things w^e see," is superior 
to it, being the very "errorless core of the 
truth," the necessary assent given by the mind 
to what is self-evident. By the time of Aris- 
totle faith has lost this lofty position, as the 



Litrodiiction. ' g 

source of certainty, and come to mean the as- 
sent which the mind, not by necessity of evi- 
dence, but by the balancing of probabihties, 
accords to the conclusions of experience. 
"Faith follows opinion,"^ says that philoso- 
pher. From this time on, in Greek thought, 
the term wavers between these two meanings, 
intuition and belief. Proklos, the last of the 
great Greek thinkers, holds faith to be the 
highest of the three ways leading to God, the 
other two being love and truth. It is due to 
direct divine illumination. Some Christian 
sects held the same doctrine ; but, in the 
Christian world, faith had early many different 
meanings. F. C. Baur enumerates six senses 
in which it is used by St. Paul.^ In the Epis- 
tle to the Hebrews we read, " Faith is the sub- 
stance of the things hoped for, the test of the 
things that are not seen." In modern philo- 
sophical language this would read : Faith is 
the immediate intuition of the ideal, as distinct 
from the real, world. St. Augustine defines 
faith as " thinking with assent," ^ and Thomas 
Aquinas, agreeing with this, says : " The act 
which is believing includes a firm adherence 

^ Ao'l?? eTrerai irlaris, De An., iii. 3 : 428^? 20 

2 Vorlesungen iiber neiitestamentliche Theologic, p. 1 54. 

^ Credere est cum assensione cogitate. De PrcBdes- 

tinatione Sanctorum, chap, ii., on which see Thomas 

Aquinas, Sum. Theolog., W!^, q. ij. art. i. 



lO Introduction. 

to one side (of a question), and in so far the 
believer coincides with the knower and under- 
stander ; and yet his knowledge is not perfect 
through clear vision, and in so far he agrees 
with the doubter, the suspecter, and the opiner. 
And thus it is characteristic of the believer 
that he thinks with assent. For this reason, 
this act of belief is distinguished from all 
other acts of the intellect that relate to the 
true and the false." ..." The intellect of the 
believer is determined to one alternative, not 
by reason, but by will." Among modern theo- 
logians no one has dealt so explicitly with 
faith as Rosmini, who gives the following as 
the order of the acts of the soul which pre- 
cede, constitute, and follow the act of faith. 

"(i.) Revealed knowledge of God, through 
hearing (external action). 

" (2.) Perception of God, or effectual light is- 
suing from that revealed knowledge, especially 
from that part of it which is mysterious (action 
performed in the essence of the soul). 

"(3.) A consequent feeling, a sweet and sub- 
lime delight, issuing from that perception, and 
persuading us of the truth of the things per- 
ceived. 

" (4.) Power to believe and act holily, the 
effect of this feeling. 

"(5.) Voluntary act of belief, a practical 
judgment on the truth and excellence of the 



Litrodnction. 1 1 

things known and perceived, an act of estima- 
tion, the recognition of God as light, truth, and 
infinite authority. This act, if a man does not 
recalcitrate with his evil will, is followed by 
love and holy, meritorious acts of living faith. 

" (6.) Love, which follows this act of prac- 
tical estimation. 

" (7.) Holy action, following from love." ^ 

M. Renan, speaking of the question of indi- 
vidual immortality, says : " Perhaps it is well 
that an eternal veil should cover truths which 
have a value only when they are the fruit of a 
pure heart." ^ The implication here is that 
it is purity of heart that gives eyes to faith. 
" Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall 
see God." 

Such are a few of the attempts made by 
great and profoundly religious men, from the 
rise of philosophy to the present day, to give 
a meanino: to the word ' faith.' Though show- 
ing wide differences in results, they agree in 
two things : (i) That faith is a faculty of the 
soul which enables it to grasp truths inacces- 
sible to understanding and knowledge, the 
very truths which are required to give life its 
meaning and consecration ; (2) that its efficacy 
depends upon a condition of the heart and 
will, upon a pure heart and a good will. 

1 Antr apologia Soprannaturale, pp. 94 sq. 

2 Introduction to the Book of Job. 



12 hitrodiiction. 

It is these two essential elements that enter 
into Tennyson's conception of faith. Faith 
gives us 

" truths that never can be proved 
Until we close with all we loved, 
And all we flow from, soul in soul." ^ 

It "comes of self control ; "^ it has its source 
in reverence ; ^ it is the protest of the heart 
against the " freezing reason's colder part." 
It is wisdom, as distinct from, and superior to, 
knowledge. That the poet identifies faith with 
wisdom is clear from a comparison of the fol- 
lowing passages : 

*' Let knowledge grow from more to more, 
But more of reverence in us dwell; 
That mind and sold, according well, 
May make one music as before, 
*' But vaster." 

" For she (knowledge) is earthly of the mind, 
But Wisdom heavenly of the Jtw/." 

Here Wisdom is written with a capital, to show 
that it means the personified wisdom of the 
Alexandrine Jews, which was another name for 
the Logos, or Word, spoken of in the opening 
verses of St. John's Gospel, and identified with 
Christ.'* But, though faith or wisdom deals 

1 cxxxi. 3; Cf. Prol., r, 6; Iv. 5; cxxiv. 6; cxxvii. i. 

2 cxxxi. 3. 

^ Prol., 7 ; cxiv. 6. 

* See Proverbs^xix. 19; viii., ix., and the whole Book 



Introduction. 1 3 

with higher things than knowledge does, it is 
inferior to knowledge in power to produce cer- 
tainty. The reason of this is that its objects 
are formless, and the human mind has diffi- 
culty in thinking anything of this sort. " We 
walk by faith, not by form," ^ says St. Paul. 
But, as Aristotle remarks, ''The soul never 
thinks without a phantasm." ^ Hence, we are 
compelled, in order to grasp the things of 
faith, to have them presented to us in the 
form of a parable, allegory, myth, or tale. As 
Dante so well says {Farad. ^ iv. 40) : 

" Thus it behoves your minds to be addressed, 
Because alone from things of sense they seize, 
What then they render fit for intellect. 

And so it is that Scripture condescends 
To your ability ; and hands and feet 
Ascribes to God, and meaneth something else." 

Tennyson often insists upon the necessity of 
a form for faith, for example : 

" O thou that after toil and storm 

Mayst seem to have reach 'd a purer air, 
V^ho?>Q. faith has centre everywhere, 
Nor cares to fix itself Xoform^ 

of Wisdom, perhaps written by Philo the Jew, whose 
works contain much regarding Wisdom and the Logos. 
Cf. I Corinth, i. 30. 

1 2 Corinth, v. 7. Such is the correct translation of 
this passage. Cf. The figure of this world passeth 
away, i Corinth, vii. 31. 

2 De Anima, iii. 7 : 43irz 16 sq. 



1 4 Introduction. 

*' Leave thou thy sister when she prays. 

" W^\ faith thro' form is pure as thine." ^ 

" And all is well, though yi?//// 3.nd form 
Be sundered in the night of fear."^ 

" Though trtiths in manhood darkly join 
Deep-seated in our mystic frame, 
We yield all blessing to the name 
Of Him that made them ctirreiit coin. 

" For Wisdom dealt with mortal powers 
Where truth in closest words shall fail, 
When triith embodied in a tale 
Shall enter in at lowly doors." ^ 

This last quotation helps us to understand 
the relation of faith to knowledge, and to find 
the credentials for the former. The truths of 
faith are contained in our very frame or con- 
stitution, which is mystical, that is, opens out 
into the Infinite, into God. Every soul can 
truly say, "I and the Father are one." Tenny- 
son often dwells upon this mystic union of the 
finite with the Infinite. Speaking of the origin, 
of the individual soul, he says : 

" A soul shall draw from out the vast 
And strike his being into bounds, 

" And, moved thro' life of lower phase, 
Result in man, be born and think."* 

1 xxxiii. 1,3. '^ cxxvii. i. 

8 xxxvi. I, 2. * Epilogue, 31. 



Introduction. 1 5 

Of the birth of the individual 'consciousness, 
he says : 

" But as he grows he gathers much 

And learns the use of ' I ' and ' me,' 
And finds ' I am not what I see, 
And other than the things I touch.' 

" So rounds he to a separate mmd 

From whence clear memory may begin, 
As thro' the frame that binds him in 
His isolation grows defined." 

Other even more distinct utterances to the 
same effect may be found in the poems, 
" Flower in the crannied wall," " De Profun- 
dis," and "The Higher Pantheism," in the last 
of which occur these verses : 

" Dark is the world to thee : thyself art the reason why : 
For is He not all but thou, that hast power to feel ' I 
am I ! ' 

" Glory about thee, without thee : and thou f ulfillest thy 

doom, 
Making Him broken gleams, and a stifled splendor and 

gloom. 

" Speak to Him thou, for He hears, and Spirit with 

Spirit can meet — 
Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and 

feet." 

The gist of all this is, that the human being, 
in putting on individuality, in striking his being 
into bounds, in rounding to a separate mind 
capable of knowledge, readily loses the con- 



1 6 Introdjiction. 

sciousness of his oneness with the Infinite,^ 
which consciousness is faith, the condition of 
all knowledge, as Parmenides saw. St. Bona- 
ventura has put this admirably : 

" Strange is the blindness of the intellect 
which does not consider that which it first 
sees, and without which it can know nothing. 
But, as the eye, when intent upon the variety 
of colors, does not see the light through which 
it sees other things, or, if it sees, does not 
observe it, so the eye of our mind, when intent 
upon these particular and universal entities, 
does not observe that being which is above all 
genus, although it is first presented to the 
mind, and all other things are presented only 
through it. \Mience it is most truly manifest 
that, as the eye of the bat behaves to the light, 
so the eye of our mind behaves to the most 
obvious things of nature.^ The reason is, that, 

1 Compare Wordsworth, "Our birth is but a sleep 
and a forgetting" {Ode to Immortality), and Mrs. 
Browning's lines near the beginning of Aii7'ora Leigh : 

" I have not so far left the coasts of life 
To travel inland, that I cannot hear 
The murmur of the outer Infinite, 
Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep, 
When wondered at for smiling." 

2 This sentence is almost a literal translation from 
Aristotle, who is not usually regarded as mystical : 
"{Icrirep yap rk rwv vvKrepiScau ofxfxara irphs rh (peyyos exei 
rh yii€0' rificpav, ovtus koX ttjs rnuLerepas ^v^fiS 6 vovs irphs rh. 
rrj (piKxei (pavepctiTara Travrwv (the things most obvious in 
their nature). Hie tap /i., A^, i : 993^ 9 sqcj. 



( 



Intro diLction. 1 7 

being accustomed to the darkness of (indi- 
vidual) objects, and the phantasms of sensible 
things, when it sees the light of the highest 
being, it seems to see nothing (not understand- 
ing that this very darkness is the highest illu- 
mination of our minds) ; just as when the eye 
sees pure light, it seems to see nothing."^ 

But, while our " isolation " through the flesh 
obscures for us our oneness with the Infinite, 
it serves to define our individual personality : 

" This use may lie in blood and breath, 
Which else were fruitless of their due, 
Had man to learn himself anew 
Beyond the second birth of Death." - 

And even when the flesh falls away, and we 

" close with all we loved 
And all we flow from, soul in soul," ^ 

this individuality will continue : 

*' Eternal form shall still divide 
The eternal soul from all beside." ^ 

From all this it is clear that, while know- 
ledge is the consciousness of our distinctness 
from the Infinite, and the relation of our 
spirits, as distinct, to it, faith is the conscious- 
ness of our oneness with the Infinite. It is in 
this double consciousness that the essence of 
religion and man's true blessedness consist. 

1 Itmera7-inm Mentis in Deum, chap. v. 

2 xlv. 4. 3 cxxxi. 3. 4 xlvii. 2. 



1 8 Introduction. 

The human spirit shrinks from the thought of 
losing either side of it, of losing knowledge of 
self and not-self, and sinking into a Buddhistic 
nirvana^ or of losing faith, and finding itself 
an unsustained, hopeless wanderer in an alien 
universe. And all causes for such shrinking 
arise from the difficulty of finding symbols or 
forms in which to express and justify the con- 
tent of faith to knowledge, in which alone 
there is perfect clearness for the ordinary man. 
All religions have been merely so many at- 
tempts to find such symbols ^ or forms, and 
their success has depended upon the fitness of 
these. The fit symbol is that which finds a re- 
sponse, an "assent," as Augustine and Thomas 
Aquinas call it, in the faculty of faith, which 
Tennyson, following an old usage, calls the 
soul,^ or heart,^ as distinct from mind,^ or rea- 
son,® — the faculty of knowledge. Now, the 
question with regard to the credentials of faith 
resolves itself into an inquiry into the nature 
and validity of this response or assent, and 
this, again, leads us to consider the nature of 
assent in general. 

1 Symbol is the Greek word for creed, as well as for 
the signs in the sacraments. 

2 " That mind and soiil, according well, 

May make one music as before." (Prol., 7.) 
' " A warmth within the breast would melt 
The freezing reason s colder part, 
And, like a man in wrath, the heart 
Stood up and answered, ' I have felt.' " (cxxiv. 4.) 



( 



Introdiictum. 19 

What, then, is assent ? As no one has dealt 
with this question so fully as Rosmini, we may 
answer in his words : " Assent is the act by 
which a man voluntarily affirms with subjective 
efficacy any object which is present to his in- 
telligence," such object being always a pos- 
sible or ideal judgment. To understand a 
proposition and to assent to it are two widely 
different things. The mere fact that I under- 
stand the proposition, *' The soul is immortal," 
does not compel me to give my assent to it. 
What, then, is it in a proposition that compels 
assent ? The feeling or consciousness that, if 
we withheld assent, we should be doing vio- 
lence to our own nature. I cannot, for ex- 
ample, refuse my assent to the proposition, 
" Not more than one straight line can be 
drawn through a given point, parallel to an- 
other straight line," or to this, "Nothing can 
act before it is," without doing violence to my 
rational powers, and destroying the very pos- 
sibility of truth. And I have much the same 
feeling when I refuse assent to the proposi- 
tions, " My will is free," " My soul is immor- 
tal," " My actions have inevitable and eternal 
consequences to me." I feel that, if these are 
not true, there is no meaning in anything ; my 
existence and all existence is irrational, mere 
vanity of vanities. It is true that Kant has 
tried to show that the assent which we give to 



20 Introduction, 

propositions in mathematics and philosophy 
of nature has grounds such as are altogether 
wanting to the assent which we may accord to 
metaphysical propositions. He says that in 
the first case we are aided by time and space, 
the forms of sense, and in the second by the 
categories of the understanding,^ whereas, 
when we come to the last, we find in the "pure 
reason " no form or forms enabling us to have 
experience of its objects, and so can only as- 
sume them as postulates, without ever being 
able to say whether in reality anything corre- 
sponds to them. But is Kant right in this ? 
Is it true that the pure reason has no forms 
making experience of its objects possible ? 
Was not Parmenides, the ancient Kant, right, 
when he said, in his poetical way, that Justice 
(AtKTy) was the teacher of the highest truth ? ^ 
And are not the oft-repeated words of the Bible 
true : " The just shall live by faith " ? ^ Is not 
justice the form of the 'pure reason,' of that 
higher consciousness which we call faith .? Is 
it not true that just as all sensuous apprehen- 
sion is conditioned by space and time, and all 

1 These Schopenhauer has very correctly reduced to 
the one category of Cause or Causation. 

2 There are few thmgs in literature finer than his ac- 
count of how he was led to Truth by Justice. See my 
translation of his Fragments, yotcrmil of Speadative 
Philosophy, vol. iv. pp. l-i6. 

3 Habb. ii. 4; Rom. i. 17 ; Gal. iii. 11 ; Heb. x. 38, etc. 



Introduction. 2 1 

understanding by cause, so all 'pure reason,' 
or faith {jlo-tis), is conditioned by justice or 
righteousness, taken in its broadest sense ? 
And was not Kant forced virtually to admit 
this, when he came to treat of ethics ? Is not 
his ' categorical imperative : ' ' Act so that the 
maxim of thy will may be accepted as the prin- 
ciple of universal legislation,' — a mere awk- 
ward way of saying, " Justice is the law of the 
universe " ? And, in spite of this awkwardness, 
does not Kant find that his maxim involves 
three moral postulates — Freedom, Immortal- 
ity, God ? The fact is that Kant, failing to 
see that justice is the form of the pure reason, 
which is essentially moral, left the form of mo- 
rality a mere blind imperative, and invented a 
spurious faculty, the practical reason, to deal 
with it. As a consequence, he was compelled 
to leave the facts which justice interprets to 
consciousness mere postulates. Let us once 
realize that justice is the form of reason, and 
these facts will present themselves as real. 
We shall then find the law of justice as neces- 
sary and universal as the law of cause ; and 
God will be no longer a postulate, but the 
supreme reality. This reality is moral in its 
nature, and can be reached only through the 
moral faculty, which is the pure reason,^ or 

1 On the error of assuming a practical reason, see 
Rosmini, Introduction to Principles of Moral Science. ■ 



22 Introduction. 

faith, in its original sense. This being true, 
all propositions explicating the form of faith 
ought to command our assent as readily as 
those exphcating the forms of sense and un- 
derstanding. For example, the proposition, 
"The human will is free," should command it 
as certainly as, " Not more than one straight 
line can be drawn through a given point par- 
allel to another straight hne," or, "Nothing 
can act before it is." 

But it will be said. We cannot help assent- 
ing to the last two : nobody ever doubted 
them ; whereas we are by no means forced to 
assent to the first. The most obvious reply 
to this is, that the last two propositions have 
both been frequently not only doubted, but 
denied. Many modern geometers have denied 
the first : ^ Spinoza and Fichte denied the 
second.^ But, after all, it is true that the 
propositions of pure reason are doubted and 
denied much more frequently than those of 
sense and understanding ; that they do not so 
readily command assent as these. There must 
be some reason for this. Let us consider it. 

When we observe that the propositions de- 

1 See Stallo's Concepts and Theories of Modern Phys- 
ics, pp. 207 sqq. ; chap. xiii. 

2 Spinoza's Causa sui, which plays so prominent a 
part in his system, involves this denial, and Fichte's 
assertion that " the Ego originally absolutely posits its 
own being " openly expresses it. 



Introduction. 23 

pending upon the forms of sense are less fre- 
quently denied than those depending upon the 
form of the understanding, and this because 
the former are more easy to grasp completely 
than the latter, we ought to expect that the 
latter would be less frequently denied than 
those depending upon the form of faith. But 
there is another and deeper reason for the 
latter fact. The faculty of faith is much more 
easily deranged and impaired in its activity 
than that of understanding, and requires more 
careful training. It is dependent upon the 
life which a man leads, and acts normally 
only in the man whose life is free from stain. 
" If any one do His will, he will know of the 
doctrine, whether it be of God." The assent 
which the soul gives to the propositions of 
faith is a moral assent, accorded by the moral 
faculty, which cannot judge correctly, unless it 
has built up for itself a moral world, by right- 
eous action. Each human being has his own 
world, built up through his own faculties. His 
sensuous world is built up through sense and 
its forms; his intelligible world through un- 
derstanding and its form ; his moral world 
through faith and its form — justice. If a 
man has built up no moral world for himself 
by just action, how can he discover the prin- 
ciple of that world, the absolute Justice, or 
God, or how can he find a fit symbol for the 



24 Introduction. 

same in either understanding or sense ? There 
is no knowledge without experience. 

There is a third reason why the assent of 
the mind is given with some hesitancy to the 
objects of faith, and this is, because for ages 
this assent has been demanded, and under 
wrong influences given, to many propositions 
that are not based upon justice at all, but 
upon mere fancy and credulity. In rejecting 
these propositions, the reason has also re- 
jected those that are founded on justice. As 
in every case, by forcing a faculty to do some- 
thing unnatural, we have unfitted it for per- 
forming its proper function. In attempting to 
believe myths, we have ceased to be able to 
believe the truth. But, as Lowell says, "the 
soul is still oracular," and when its deeds are 
pure, it will find fitting symbols for the Infinite 
Justice. 

The result of all these drawbacks is, that 
the moral assent, which, conditioned by jus- 
tice, affirms God, Freedom, and Immortality, is 
given feebly and falteringly, and, in hours of 
spiritual darkness, withheld altogether. Hence 
Tennyson calls upon his friend to be near him 
when his " light is low," and when his " faith 
is dry," and, at the very last, he speaks of the 
objects of faith as " truths that never can be 
proved," until men return to the bosom of 
God. This only means that the poet, not re- 



Introduction. 25 

garding the response of the moral nature, 
whose form is justice, as final and sufficient, 
looks for a response from the understanding, 
to which the things of reason can appear only 
in the form of symbols, or, as Henry George 
so admirably puts it, " a shadowy gleam of 
ultimate relations, the endeavor to express 
which inevitably falls into type and allegory." 
But such a response can never be given, in 
this world or any other; for the response of 
the soul to the Infinite Justice is not com- 
manded by knowledge, but by blessedness. 
Dante knows that he has seen God only be- 
cause, in saying so, he feels that he is filled 
with larger bliss. -^ We are mistaken when we 
think that understanding is the highest faculty 
of the soul, or certifies to the deepest realities. 
Above it is that faculty which the understand- 
ing cannot even define, but which it compares 
to the confidence reposed in a true and tried 
friend and calls faith, and which is the human 
reflex of the Divine Wisdom, man's conscious- 
ness of the Infinite and his oneness therewith. 

1 " La forma universal di questo nodo 
Credo ch' io vidi, perche piu di largo, 
Dicendo questo, mi sento ch' io godo." 

Farad.., xxxiii. 91 sqq. 



CHAPTER I. 

(i-viii.) 

The poet justifies his grief, describes its effects, 
explains why he writes of if, refuses cheap 
consolation, and seeks only to embalm the past. 

The earliest expression which Tennyson 
gave to his grief for the loss of his friend is 
the exquisite lyric, " Break, break, break," in 
which he makes us feel that his soul is utterly 
out of harmony with the world, that its light is 
gone, that only darkness and despair are left. 

In Memoria7n opens in a somewhat less de- 
spairing tone. Numb, voiceless grief has given 
place to sorrow mingled with reflection. The 
poet finds it necessary even to justify his grief 
to himself. He might, by treading 
down his past self, that moral world 
whose light was his friend, rise to higher 
things. He formerly believed such a course 
possible ; but now he cannot realize it. The 
world of his past is the only one wherein his 
soul is at home. Better a world with love 
clasping grief than a world without love. The 
constancy of our love is the measure of our 
worth. 



28 In Memoriam. 

But sorrow is deadening. In clinging to his 
dead past, he feels like the yew tree 
that grasps at tombstones, "whose 
fibres knit the dreamless head " below. A 
" thousand years of gloom " have settled on 
him, and in that gloom, Sorrow whispers des- 
olating doubts, suggesting that the 
whole universe may be a mere mock- 
ery, "signifying nothing." Such doubts para- 
lyze the will, and send all the powers 
to sleep. The poet sits "within a 
helmless bark" ; his life has lost direction. 
His very heart beats sluggishly for want of de- 
sire or motive, and he scarcely has courage to 
ask why, or warmth to melt the tears that have 
frozen at their springs. Only at morning the 
will shows a little strength, and struggles not 
to be " the fool of loss." He then seeks to 
relieve his torpor by putting his grief in words ; 
but this seems almost a sin, all words 
are so superficial and inadequate. 
Still, since the " sad mechanic exercise " of 
writing verses acts like a narcotic, " numbing 
pain," he will go on writing, in order to shield 
himself from cold despair. This method of 
numbing pain is, indeed, his only refuge ; ac- 
ceptance is out of the question. Friends try 

to console him by remindino^ him 
VI . 

that "loss is common to the race"; 

but such comfort is mere chaff. The common- 



Hopeless Grief. 29 

ness of loss does not make it less bitter in any 
one case. The pathos, the awfulness, the 
surprise of death remain forever the same. 
Nothing can fill the blank made by the loss of 
the beloved friend. So the poet turns back to 
the now darkened world of the past, 

VII 

visits the scenes where he and his 
friend have been happy together, and finds a 
little comfort in continuing the art of 
poetry which they had cultivated in 
common, and in consecrating it to the memory 
of the departed. Its chief worth now is that 
it pleased him, and serves to embalm his 
memory. 



CHAPTER II. 

(ix-xxi.) 

The circumstances of the friend's death, the re- 
turn of the body to Engla7id, and its burial. 

After the alleviation derived from writing 
verses to the memory of his friend, 
the next thing that comforts the poet 
is the return of the friend's body to England 
and its burial in English soil. He prays for 
every blessing upon the ship that bears his 
" lost Arthur's loved remains." In imagina- 
tion he follows it day and night on 
its voyage, like a guardian angel, lest 
anything should befall it, and the remains be 
lost. Under the influence of the 

XI 

soothing autumn weather, he feels a 

certain calm ; but it is only the calm of despair,^ 

and even that does not last. Impa- 

XII 

tience drives him to meet the ship, 
which brings but death instead of life, cause 
for tears instead of for joy. So strange is it 

1 Compare the lines of Burns : 

" Come, Autumn, sae pensive in yellow and grey, 
And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay; 
The dark, dreary wmter an' wild drivin' sna' 
Alane can delight me — my Nannie 's awa." 



Dust to Dust. 3 1 

that the body should return without the in- 
forming spirit, that he seems to " suf- 
fer in a dream," so that his "eyes 
have leisure for their tears," and his fancy 
for play. But, if the ship should 
bring the living instead of the dead 
friend, he would not be surprised, so little has 
he yet realized the thought of his 
death. The approach of tempestu- 
ous winter changes the " calm despair " of 
the poet's soul into a "wild unrest," which 
would be overwhelming, were it not for the 
fancy that the ship bearing his friend's body 
is peacefully sailing " athwart a plane of 
molten glass." Such chansie from 

^ , , ^ XVI. 

one extreme to the other seems sur- 
prising, and the poet can account for it only 
by supposing that it is unreal, or else that sor- 
row has utterly unhinged him, stunned him, 
and made him delirious. In any case, life has 
become confused and purposeless. At last the 
ship arrives, bringing the remains in safety, 
and the poet once more prays for 

XVII. 

every blessing henceforth to accom- 
pany it for such kind service. Then the fu- 
neral takes place. Hallam is buried in 
Clevedon church, in Somersetshire; 
in a " still and sequestered situation, on a lone 
hill that overhangs the Bristol Chan- 

XIX 

nel," " and in the hearing of the 



32 /;/ Mernoriam. 

wave." ^ This brings the mourner some sUght 
comfort. 

" 'T is well ; 't is something ; we may stand 
Where he in English earth is laid, 
And from his ashes may be made 
The violet of his native land." 

His grief now ebbs and flows, like the tides ; 
it is no longer a changeless flood. During the 
ebbs — which bear the same relation to the 
flows as the grief of servants to that of chil- 
dren in a house " where lies the mas- 

XX. 

ter newly dead " — he can speak. At 
other times, the words die on his lips, for grief 
that may not be spoken. Such grief the world 
does not understand, but looks upon as mere 
subtle vanity, as waste of energy that 
might be employed in some practical 
or scientific pursuit, which alone it can appre- 
ciate. The poet can only reply : 

*' Behold, ye speak an idle thing : 
Ye never knew the sacred dust : 
I do but sing because I must, 
And pipe but as the linnets sing." ^ 

1 The funeral took place on 3d January, 1S34, the 
death on the 15th September previous. 

2 Compare Goethe's lines : 

" Ich singe, wie der Vogel singt 
Der in den Zweigen wohnet ; 
Das Lied, das aus der Kehle dringt, 
1st Lohn, der reichlich lohnet." 

Aleister^s L ?hrjahre, II. ii. 



CHAPTER III. 

(xxii-xxvii.) 

The friejidship for the dead. Its reality and 
blessedness. Not to be quenched by time or 
sorrow. 

Yea, the poet has good cause to mourn. 
His loss is incalculable. The friend- 

XXII. 

ship so rudely interrupted by death 
was the very light of his life for four years, 
years full of pure happiness and lofty 
endeavor. Between these and the 
darkened present what a contrast ! And here 
a question arises in the poet's mind, 

XXIV. 

whether it is not just this contrast 

that makes the years of friendship seem so 

perfect : but his consciousness an- 

XXV. 

swers promptly and affirms, " I know 

that this was Life " ; for it is love that gives 

life its value. He will, therefore, 

XXVI 

cling to that Life with its Love, what- 
ever sorrow may now overhang it, "whatever 
fickle tongues may say." Better that he should 
die, than that love should perish and become 
indifference. Better deep feeling and passion, 



34 Ifi^ Memoriaui. 

with all the pain that may come of them, than 

the calm of a sluggish, indifferent 
XXVII. , ^^ ' 

heart. 

" I hold it true, whate'er befall ; 
I feel it, when I sorrow most ; 
'T is better to have loved and lost 
Than never to have loved at all." ^ 

1 Compare Goethe's lines, Faust, Pt. II. vv. 1659-60; 
" Doch im Erstarren such' ich nicht mein Heil, 
Das Schaudern ist der Menschheit bestes Theil." 

and vv. 2S47-8 : 

" Geheilt will ich nicht sein ! mein Sinn ist machtig I 
Da war ich ja wie andre niedertrachtig. " 



CHAPTER IV. 

(xxviii-xxxvii.) 

Turning from the past to the future. The im- 
mortality of the soul. The hope coming from 
revelation confirmed by reason. Reasoii and 
J^ev elation. 

At this point the poet begins to take some 
interest in the affairs of life, and to turn from 
the past to the future. Christmas has come, 
with its merry bells proclaiming " peace and 
goodwill to all mankind " and bringing him 
" sorrow touched with joy," ^ joy engendered 
by hope. In spite of the p:rief that 

. ■ XXVIII 

lies over the house, and in which even 
the skies seem to participate, the old Christ- 
mas formalities and pastimes are kept 

XXIX 

up. But the gladness which such 
things are meant to attest comes not, only 

" an awful sense 
Of one mute Shadow, watching all." 

Under the influence of this felt pres- 

XXX 

ence of the loved and lost, the be- 

1 Compare with this the effect of the Easter bells 
upon Faust, in bringing him back to hope and prevent- 
ing suicide. Goethe's Faust, Ft. I. 



36 In MeinoriaiH. 

reaved take each other's hands and, with tear- 
bedimmed eyes and echo-Uke voices, sing im- 
petuously a merry song they sang with him 
shortly before his death. But the invisible 
presence and the Christmas season bring a 
more solemn and a more hopeful feeling, un- 
der the inspiration of which they sing with as- 
surance of the immortality of the soul, the 
"keen seraphic flame," and encourage each 
other to hope. 

" They do not die 
Nor lose their mortal sympathy, 
Nor change to us, although they change. 

"Rapt from the fickle and the frail 
With gather'd power, yet the same, 
Pierces the keen seraphic flame 
From orb to orb, from veil to veil." 

The hope offered by the Christian revelation 
recalls the story of Lazarus, and the 

XXXI 

poet wonders why, if he was really 
dead and restored to life, we are not told what 
he had to relate of the life beyond the grave. 
He concludes : 

" He told it not ; or something seal'd 
The lips of that Evangelist." 

His sister, Mary, would have all curiosity on 
the subject quenched by joy, love, and 
reverence, feelings far higher than 
"curious fears," which come only to the un- 
happy. 



Covifort from Revelation. 37 

" Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers, 
Whose loves in higher love endure ; 
What souls possess themselves so pure, 
Or is there blessedness like theirs ? " 



XXXIII. 



And this leads the poet to warn those who, 
after much battling with doubt and 
difficulty, have attained a purely ra- 
tional faith, that 

" has centre everywhere 
Nor cares to fix itself to form," 

not to disturb the faith-through-form of their 
sisters, of those simple souls, who are made 
happy and eager for good by their childhood's 
beliefs. A second conscience, in the form of 
an external ideal, is a valuable and often need- 
ful addition to "the law within," "in a world 
of sin." 

But, after all, it ought not to require any 
revealed, supernatural proof to con- 

XXXIV 

vince us of the soul's immortality. 
The very dimness and imperfection of our 
lives here, compared with the perfection we 
imagine and aspire to, ought to suffice. If 
those ideals and aspirations which give life its 
meaning are but delusions, then all is vain, the 
universe a mockery, justice a cruel chimera, 
and God a lie. Then 

" 'T were best at once to sink to peace. 

Like birds the charming serpent draws, 
To drop head-foremost in the jaws 
Of vacant darkness and to cease." 



38 /;/ Memoriam. 

Notwithstanding this verdict of the reason, 
the poet is willing to consider the 

XXXV 

case so often put by those who can- 
not see their way to belief in immortality : 
Supposing by some inconceivable means we 
could be convinced that death ends all, would 
it not still be worth while, for the sake of 
the sweetness of love, to cling to this life ? Is 
not human life worth living for its own sake ? 
He replies in the negative, for the reason that 
the very sweetness and worth of love are due 
to the feeling that it is divine and eternal. 
Take away this feeling, convince men that the 
world is governed by brute force, not by love, 
and love will lose its sweetness, and die from 
fear of death. The case is an idle one. 

" If Death were seen 
At first as Death, Love had not been, ' 

Or been in narrowest working shut, 

" Mere fellowship of sluggish moods, 
Or in its coarsest Satyr-shape 
Had bruised the herb and crush'd the grape 
And bask'd and batten'd in the woods." 

In a word, love unglorified by the feeling of 
immortality would sink down into mere brute 
passion. Hence, unless life be immortal, it 
contains nothing to make it worth living. 

Many persons at the present day will, no 
doubt, question the justice of this conclusion, 
and agree with Goethe that "existence is a 



Reason attests Inujiortality. 39 

duty, were it but for a moment." Indeed, it 
seems to be the tendency of thought at the 
present moment to find a satisfactory formula, 
that is, a moral and religious motive, for this 
life, without any reference whatever to a life 
beyond. That life without such reference 
could and would be, nay, has been, lived, is 
certain ; but whether it could long so main- 
tain itself on moral heights, whether, indeed, 
there is any satisfactory moral formula for 
such a life, seems to me very questionable. 
One thing is certain : no such formula has 
been found, and the evident failure of the 
numerous quests recently made points to the 
conclusion that probably none can be found. 

Although our human reason, when subtly 
questioned, is sufficient to reveal to us God, 
Freedom, and Immortality, 

" Tho' truths in manhood darkly join, 
Deep-seated in our mystic frame," 

this fact does not remove the necessity for an- 
other revelation, suited to those minds which 
are incapable of such subtle question- 

XXXVI 

ing. Hence the value of the Christian 
niythus^ that "truth embodied in a tale." It 
can " enter in at lowly doors," which would be 
barred against " truth in closest words." 

But, in speaking thus of Christianity, as a 
sort of " Picture- Writing to assist the weaker 



40 /;/ Memoriam. 

faculty," ^ the poet feels that he has broached 

a delicate subject. The heavenly Muse of 

revelation (Urania) reproves him sharply, and 

tells him to confine himself to his 
XXXVII. , ^. _. 

own pagan sphere. His pagan Muse 

(Melpomene) replies meekly, confesses her un- 
worthiness, and pleads for indulgence on ac- 
count of her need for comfort. 

" I murmur'd as I came along, 

Of comfort clasp'd in truth reveal'd, 
And loiter'd in the master's field. 
And darken'd sanctities with song." 

1 Carlyle, Sai'tor Resartus, Bk. II. chap. ix. 



CHAPTER V. 

(xxxviii-xlviii.) 

The simple conviction of immortal ify does not 
satisfy the heart, which desires to realize im- 
7nortal life and communicate with the departed. 

Metenzpsychosis. 

Though convinced by reason, confirmed by 
revelation, that life is immortal, and that his 
friend still exists, the poet yet finds his heart 
unsatisfied. The want of power to realize his 
friend's condition, or to establish any form of 
communication with him, leaves therein a 
weary, aching, dark, paralyzing void, lighted 
only by the doubtful gleam coming from the 
songs which he loves to sing, and which, he 
hopes, by pleasing the departed, may 
hold his attention. And so the for- 
mer darkness, after being slightly dissipated, 
returns. The gloom of the old stone-grasping, 
skull-knitting yew, into which, through numb- 
ing sorrow, he had grown "incorporate," (ii.) 

" is kindled at the tips, 
And passes into gloom again." 

Such, at least, is the whisper of Sorrow. 



42 /;/ Memoriam. 

But the poet is aware that she lies, and em- 
ploys his fancy in trying to realize the condi- 
tion of the spirit of his friend. He would fain 
think of it as a bride, that has left a loving 
father's house to go to a home full 

XL 

of new love and new hopes, and in 
some respects the comparison answers ; but 
alas ! the difference is too palpable. The 
bride will from time to time return to gladden 
the scenes of her maidenhood, " And bring 
her babe, and make her boast ; " 

" But thou and I have shaken hands, 
Till growing winters lay me low ; 
My paths are in the fields I know, 
And thine in undiscover'd lands." 

Feeling the failure of this attempt, the poet 
tries to conceive an act of will by 

XLI 

which he should be able 
" To leap the grades of life and light 
And flash at once " 

upon his friend. But this is folly. He can- 
not reach him, and at times there comes upon 
him a chilling, " spectral doubt " that he shall 
never reach him, but be "evermore a life 
behind," the difference in their grade of spir- 
itual development holding them, like gravita- 
tion, in different spheres. But this he recog- 
nizes to be a foolish fancy. Such 

XLII. ,.^^ , n y 

difference does not connne souls to 
different spheres, else he and his friend, who 



Viezvs of Immortality. 43 

was so much his superior, could never have 
walked upon the same earth. And so he may 
hope to overtake his friend, and learn from him 
the results of his spiritual experience.^ 

*' And what delights can equal those 
That stir the spirit's inner deeps, 
When one that loves but knows not, reaps 
A truth from one that loves and knows .'' " 

Thus far the poet has considered only the 
Christian view of immortality, which holds that 
the soul is created by God at the birth of the 
body, is incarnated but once, and, after one 
probation, passes to a condition unalterable 
for all eternity. But other views of immor- 
tality have been held. Among the most com- 
mon of these is metempsychosis, or the belief 
that every soul is everlasting, and is, or may 
be, incarnated an indefinite number of times. 
Of this there are two chief forms, the Greek 
and the Buddhistic. To these the poet now 
turns. 

If the soul is incarnated many times, then 
death is but a lonsier and deeper 

XLIII 

sleep, and life and death alternate 

like waking and sleeping. During death, the 

1 Compare the opposite view, Goethe, Faust, Pt. IL 
vv. 7467 sqq. 

" Wir wurden friih entfernt 
Von Lebechoren ; 
Doch dieser hat gelernt, 
Er wird uns lehren." 



44 III Mcnioriain. 

disembodied spirit, though unconscious, re- 
tains, in latent form, all the impressions and 
experience of all its past lives, and thus the 
entire experience of the world is treasured up, 
unimpaired, in "that still garden of the souls." 
In this case also the poet may expect in an- 
other life to know and love his friend, and to 
be known and loved by him. 

But, if our present life is only one of many 
lives, past and to come, does not the fact that 
we have now no remembrance of any past life 
raise a presumption that those who pass into 
another life will have no remembrance of what 
happened in this, but will have to be- 

XLIV ' . 

gin existence there as children with- 
out experience ? But the poet doubts whether 
man has not even in this life some dim recol- 
lections of past lives : 

" perhaps the hoarding sense 
Gives out at times (he knows not wlience) 
A little flash, a mystic hint." ^ 

So, in the higher life, there may come to his 
friend "some dim touch of earthly things," 
and the poet begs : 

1 Pythagoras, the founder of the Greek doctrine of 
metempsychosis, is said to have remembered all his past 
lives, to have recognized on the door of a temple the 
shield which, as Euphorbos, he wore in the Trojan war, 
and to have discovered the soul of an old friend in a 
dog that some one was whipping. There are some facts 
in our psychic life which certainly suggest the thought 
of lives previous to this. 



Metempsychosis. 45 

** If such a dreamy touch should fall, 

O turn thee round, resolve the doubt ; 
My guardian angel will speak out 
In that higii place, and tell thee all." 

But, after all, this may be our first conscious 
life, for which the others were mere prepara- 
tions. Indeed, the very purpose of 
this embodiment of ours may be to 
render us conscious of our own individuality, 
our separateness from the great universe of 
being, our identity, which is a matter of mem- 
ory ; and this consciousness, once gained, may 
be eternal. Incarnation would seem useless, 
if, at the dissolution of the body, man lost his 
individuality and identity, and had to acquire 
them afresh in each new life. But, granting 
that in the next life we shall retain the con- 
sciousness of our identity gained here, it does 
not follow that we shall remember the events of 
this life with any clearness, since we observe 
that, in proportion as we grow older here, we 
forget the events of our earlier life, its sorrows 
and joys, ''thorn and flower." Were 

XLVI. 

it not so, life would "fail in looking 
back ; " that is, it would take a life-time to re- 
call the events of a life-time. But these facts 
are all due to the form of time, or succession, 
under which we think. In the higher life, in 
which spirits will think under the form of 
eternity {sitb specie ceternitatis), an all-embra- 
cing present without past or future. 



46 /// Mentor iam. 

" clear from marge to marge shall bloom 
The eternal landscape of the past." 

In that landscape the years of friendship will 
seem the richest field, but may shed their ra- 
diance on the whole. 

The Buddhistic notion, that at death the in- 
dividual soul loses its identity, " remerging in 
the general Soul, is faith as vague as all un- 
sweet." It satisfies neither head nor 

^^^^^' heart. It teaches that the Infinite 
and Absolute Being is utterly without form 
or determination, and all forms, or individuals, 
appearing in the universe are mere temporary 
illusions. This doctrine, which leads men to 
seek the annihilation of Self, as a deluding 
phantasm, has several times tried to insinu- 
ate itself into Western thought ; for example, 
through the Arabs in the twelfth century, and 
at present, in the form of Monism, and as the 
outcome of physical science. Indeed, in all 
cases, the doctrine has its origin in thought 
carried on in terms of physics. Against it the 
Church, holding fast to the Aristotelian doc- 
trine of the eternity of forms, ^ has always ex- 
erted herself to the utmost, and for a very good 
reason. Since, in mediaeval terminology, the 
rational or intellective soul is the " substantial 

1 Metaphys., vi. 8 : lo-^ib 5 sqq., 16 sqq. Cf. Thomas 
Aquinas, Qiiast. Qiiodlib., ix. art. 11. 



Metempsychosis. 47 

form " of the body,^ if forms are not eternal, 
then the soul is not immortal. We might al- 
most say that herein lies the fundamental dis- 
tinction between the thought of the East and 
that of the West. True to the latter, the poet 
exclaims : 

" Eternal form shall still divide 
The eternal soul from all beside, 
And I shall know him when we meet." 

In the spiritual world there will still be distinc- 
tion of persons, still fellowship, still love ; and 
however far isolation may be lost, as souls 
enter into closer union, it will be lost in light, 
not in darkness, in nirvana? As St. Bernard 
puts it : " The substance (of the individual) 
will remain, but in other form, other glory, 

1 This was laid down expressly, as a dogma of the 
Church, in the Council of Vienne (1311), in this wise: 
" Doctrinam onmem, sen positionem temere asserentem 
aut vertentem in dubium quod substantia animas ration- 
alis aut intellectivae vere ac per se humani corporis non 
sit forma, velut erroneam, et veritati Catholicae fidei in- 
imicam, Sacro approbante Concilio, reprobamus : defi- 
nientes ut si quisquam deinceps asserere, defendere, seu 
tenere pertinaciter praesumpserit, quod Anima rationalis 
seu intellectiva non est forma corporis humani per se et 
essentialiter, tanquam haereticus sit censendus." This 
was even more strongly expressed by the Lateran Coun- 
cil (1515). 

2 Nirvana means " the blowing out, the extinction of 
light." See Max Miiller, Chips from a German Work- 
shops i. 276. 



48 In Memoriam. 

other power. ... So to be affected is to be 
deified." 1 

In closing this section of his poem, the au- 
thor begs his readers not to look upon his 

"brief lays of Sorrow born," as if 

XLVIII. , . ^ . ^ . , . , 

they contained definite solutions or 

the profound problems touched upon in them. 

Sorrow aspires to nothing so lofty : 

" Her care is not to part and prove, 

She takes, when harsher moods remit, 
What slender shade of doubt may flit, 
And makes it vassal unto love." 

1 " Manebit quidem substantia, sed in alia forma, alia 
gloria, alia potentia. ... Sic affici est deificari," De 
diligendo Deo, x. 28. 



CHAPTER VI. 

(xlix-lviii.) 

More problems. The prohkin of Evil and Death. 
The conflict of Nature and Faith. 

The poet resolves to continue his treatment 
of all the doubts, hints, and fancies that rise, 
like ripples on the great, ever-deepening ocean 
of sorrow, and catch broken gleams from all 
directions, " From art, from nature, 

XLIX. 

from the schools." Before under- 
taking this work, he offers a kind of prayer to 
the spirit of his friend, begging it to be near 
him at all times, when his spiritual 
powers are low or confused, to ward 
off depression, despair, and cynicism, and also 
in old age and death : 

" Be near me when I fade away, 

To point the term of human strife, 
And on the low dark verge of life 
The twilight of eternal day." 

But here a doubt springs up : Do we really 
wish that the spirits of our friends 
should stand by us and look into our 
inmost thoughts ? 

" Is there no baseness we would hide ? 
No inner vileness that we dread ? " 



50 In Memoriam. 

But this doubt vanishes when he thinks of the 
majesty of death : 

" There must be wisdom with great Death, 
The dead shall look me thro' and thro'." 

Still, although the dead see " with larger 

other eyes than ours," they must see defects 

in us. These exist, however high our inner or 

outer ideal may be. The poet complains that 

the livino: ideal which he had found 

LII 

in his friend does not suffice to draw 
him up to its height. But the same is true of 
all ideals, even the Christian one, 

" the sinless years 
That breathed beneath the Syrian blue." 

A man must not fret, therefore, 

" That life is dash'd with flecks of sin," 

but try to offset the evil in him by a strong, 
steady endeavor after virtue, so that in the 
end, 

" When Time hath sunder'd shell from pearl," 
he may have a " wealth " of good to his credit. 
This suggests the whole question of the 
function of evil in the world, a question which 
faith finds extremely baffling. How can we 
reconcile the existence of evil and pain with 
divine goodness ? Is evil ultimate, essential, 
and eternal, or is it only a passing phenome- 
non, necessary to emphasize the good and to 
develop free will .? Is there an eternal hell, or 



Function of Evil. 51 

only a temporary purgatory ? These are ques- 
tions that try men's souls. The modern mind 
finds it hard to entertain the ordinary Chris- 
tian behef that evil is eternal, and tends more 
and more to regard it as good in disguise. 
This was Goethe's view. Mephistopheles is 
made to say of himself, " I am a part of that 
power that always wills the evil, and always 
does the good." ^ Tennyson, observing that 
many a man overcomes the heats, passions, 
and follies of youth, becomes " a sober man 
among his boys," and " wears his 
manhood hale and green," is tempted 
to adopt Goethe's view. He asks : Must the 
field of life be sown with "wild oats," ere it 
be fit to produce useful grain ? At best it 
could be true only for those men who are 
strong enough to outlive the " heats of youth," 
not for those who succumb to them. But, 
even were it true for the first, it would be 
unwise to 

" preach it as a truth 
To those that eddy round and round," 

that is, those who are still in the whirlpool of 
passion. We must not allow the difficulty 
which " divine Philosophy " finds in drawing a 
clear line between good and evil to mislead 
us into confounding them, or trifling with the 
distinction between them. All such confusion 
is pandering to "the Lords of Hell." 

1 Faust, Pt. I. vv. 983 sq. 



52 /;/ Mcmoriain. 

But, while we call evil evil, we cannot, if we 

believe that "the great heart of the world is 

just," convince ourselves that it is eternal for 

any being, or that anything has been brought 

into life for an end other than itself, 

LIV 

or for no end at all. In God's world 
there cannot be any refuse or waste. Good 
will come at last to everything, even to the 
singed moth and the cloven worm. But alas ! 
looking at the facts of life as they present 
themselves to us, we find much that cries out 
against this conviction. We 

" can but trust that good shall fall 
At last — far off — at last, to all, 
And every winter change to spring." 

Such conviction comes not from knowledge, 
but from faith, that immediate, ineluctable de- 
mand of the heart for justice, from something 
in us as natural and imperious as the infant's 
dread of darkness and cry for the light.-' 

Yea, we cannot doubt that this innate de- 
mand for justice, this self-approving 
something which desires that " no life 
may fail beyond the grave," is the most god- 
like thing in us. It comes of infinite love and 
mercy, the dearest attributes of God. Can 
that which is likest to God in us be a lie ? 
And shall we allow ourselves to be induced to 
believe this by certain phenomena of nature, 
1 Compare cxxiv. 5, Introduction pp. 8 sqq. 



Faith and Science. 5 3 

whose meaning we cannot comprehend ? Shall 
we distrust the deepest utterances of our own 
souls, and lend an ear to the inarticulate de- 
liverances of rocks, plants, and brute beasts? 
If we watch the procedure of Nature, as re- 
vealed in the fossiliferous rocks and in her 
living processes, we seem to learn that she 
cares only for types, and is absolutely indif- 
ferent to individuals : 

" of fifty seeds 
She often brings but one to bear." 

It is hard for the understanding to reconcile 
such facts with the faith that every living thing 
has its aim, 

"That not one life shall be destroy'd 
Or cast as rubbish to the void, 
When God hath made the pile complete." 

Finding no hope but in faith, the poet falls 
with his burden upon that mystic stair which 
leads "through darkness up to God," stretches 
"lame hands of faith," calls to what he feels to 
be supreme, — justice and love, — and "faintly 
trusts the larger hope " of universal good. 

There are few finer conceptions in modern 
literature than that expressed in the lines, 

" the great world's altar-stairs 
That slope thro' darkness up to God." 

That the way to God is a steep stair, rising 
through night to light, is a familiar conception 



54 I^^ Memoriam. 

with all mystics, with Bernard, Bonaventura, 
Dante. Even M. Renan says: "The path of 
the universe is shrouded in darkness, but it 
goes toward God." -^ But grandly original is 
the thought that this stair is an " altar-stair," 
and that the great world itself is an altar, upon 
which everything that lives, if it will save its 
life, must offer itself in sacrifice to God. Every 
step upwards is a step away from self and 
towards God, from darkness to light. At 
first the rays from above are faint ; but they 
brighten as w^e proceed, until at last we reach 
the great altar-fire, which consumes the very 
last remnants of self, the cause of all the 
darkness. 

But even if, with the Comtists and the ma- 
jority of evolutionists, we could bring 
ourselves to accept the doctrine that 
Nature cares nothing for individuals, but only 
for types or races, and to find a satisfaction for 
all our aspirations in altruistic devotion to the 
interests of " Humanity," we should soon find 
ourselves deprived of even that satisfaction by 
the voice of Nature. We have but to examine 
the fossiliferous rocks and the soil of the earth 
to find that " a thousand types are gone." ^ 

1 Book of Job, Introduction. 

2 See Darwin, Origin of Species, chap, x., 0)i Ext Dic- 
tion. It must be remembered that this work did not 
appear till 1859, long after In Memoriam was given to 
the world. 



Nature and Reason. 5 5 

Nature seems to say, " I care for nothing, all 
shall go." Some catastrophe or some change 
in natural conditions may extinguish the whole 
human race at any moment. Can we sacrifice 
ourselves for a humanity of which this may be 
the end ? Reason revolts. 

Nature says one thing, Reason, the voice 
of God, another. Nature says all living things 
are born to die, " the spirit doth but mean the 
breath " : ^ Reason, looking at man and his life, 
his loves, his aspirations, his faith, his suffer- 
ings, his self-sacrifices, utterly rebels against 
this suggestion. If man's end is to be petri- 
fied into rocks, or blown about as dust, then 
he is a mockery of mockeries, and his life as 
futile as frail : 

" No more ? A monster then, a dream, 
A discord. Dragons of the prime 
That tare each other in their slime, 
"Were mellow music match'd with him." 

And the poet, in his despair, longs for the voice 
of his departed friend, " to soothe and bless ; " 
but feels that no complete solution of his diffi- 
culties can come, till we have passed " behind 
the veil " of flesh that hides from us the eternal 
realities. 

It need hardly be said at the present day 

1 The Latin spiritus, the Greek TrrfCua, i/'w^^, and 
many other words used to designate the psychic princi- 
ple, meant originally breath. All metaphysical terms are 
metaphors, borrowed from physics. 



56 In Memoriam. 

that, upon the question of the soul's immortal- 
ity, Nature and natural science have nothing 
to say. Science deals solely with becoming 
( Werdeti), with phenomena and their order of 
succession ; and the soul is not a phenomenon. 
It belongs to the intelligible world of unchang- 
ing realities, to which also belongs the faculty 
of faith, "the test of things not seen." Thus 
"God and Nature," Reason and Understand- 
ing, are not " at strife ; " they only speak two 
different languages, and treat of two different 
worlds. 

The poet's despairing mood does not last. 
He feels it to be a wrong^ to the mem- 

LVII. 

ory of his friend, and, rather than 
cherish it, he will accept his loss, and cease 
wasting and darkening the present by living 
solely in the past. But, in thus loosening his 
embrace upon the past, he feels that he is leav- 
ing half his life behind, and that without it 
he will pass away, and his activity come to a 
close. All that comforts him and binds him 
to life is the thought that his friend is " richly 
shrined " in his verse. ^ If objective immortality 
be impossible, he has secured for his friend at 

1 Compare Shakespeare, Sonnet XVIII. 

" But thy eternal summer shall not fade, 
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest, 
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, 
When in eternal lines to time thou grow st ; 
So long as men can breathe, cr eyes can see, 
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee." 



Refuge in Faith. 57 

least a " subjective immortality," as the Comt- 
ists say.-^ In the ears of all men " till hearing 
dies," the poet's verses will sound like the 
agojtia, announcing 

" The passing of the sweetest soul 
That ever look'd with human eyes," 

or the requiem sung at a saint's enshrinement. 
With such sepulchral accents of hopeless 
resisfnation he tries to take leave of 

, , , LVIII. 

the past and turn to the present ; 
but ere he can do so, the "high Muse," Faith, 
bids him not darken human life with such 
dolorous, fruitless dirges, adding 

" Abide a little longer here, 
And thou shalt take a nobler leave." 

That is, cling to the past with all its joys and 
sorrows a little longer, and thou shalt then be 
able to yield it up and accept the present in a 
mood nobler than that of mere blind resigna- 
tion. That past contains the "promise and 
potency " of the future. Cling to the Beatrice 
of early faith, until she rise "from flesh to 
spirit," until thou be able to behold her as 
spirit ; then thou wilt gladly take leave of the 
love that was manifested in the flesh, to glow 
with a deeper love manifested in the spirit. 
And this will be a nobler leave-taking.^ 

1 See George Eliot, " O may I join the choir invisi- 
ble," and parts of Swinburne's " Super Flumina Babylo- 
nis." 

'^ Cf. Dante, Purg., xxx., xxxi. 



CHAPTER VII. 

(lix-lxxi.) 

Acceptance of Sorrow, as a chastener. Hope. 
Play of the fancy. Visions of sleep and wak- 
ing. 

Accordingly, the poet accepts his Sorrow, 
takes it to his bosom as a wife, real- 

LIX 

izing that, in its milder moods at 
least, it may make him "wise and good," and, 
living side by side with Hope, cease to seem 
Sorrow at all. In this mood he is able to turn 
with composure to the past, and tries in imagi- 
nation to conceive his present relation to his 

friend. He feels like a simple village 

girl who has fallen in love with a man 
of higher rank than her own, and suffers from 

the consciousness of her inferiority. 

LXI • . 

How poor must his mental and spirit- 
ual condition seem to one who, in heaven, has 
joined 

" the circle of the wise, 
The perfect flower of human time " ! ^ 

1 Here the poet had probably in his inind Dante's 
Rose of the Blessed. See Paradiso, cantos xxx., xxxii. 
Compare xxiii. 19 sqq. 



Sorrow and Hope. 59 

Still, no one, not even the soul of Shakespeare 
of the sonnets, could have loved a friend more. 
Perhaps this may be a claim to attention ; if 
not, if that love is too slight and un- 

LXII 

worthy, then he is willing that his 
friend should look upon it as a boyish caprice, 
an idle tale, and turn away from it, with " a fly- 
ing smile," to nobler loves. But he comforts 
himself with the thought that wide differences 
of condition do not always preclude sympathy. 
He himself has a certain pity and 

LXIII 

affection even for horses and dogs : 
may not his friend, though as far exalted 
above him as he above these animals, have 
a certain compassionate feeling for him ? 
Another thought strikes him. His 

- LXIV 

friend may look back upon his earthly 
life and him, as a man who, having risen by 
his own efforts from a low condition to one 
of influence and command, looks back with 
pleasure and a certain longing to the village 
where he was born and the friends of his boy- 
hood, still toiling away at their simple, rustic 
occupations. 

But these are fancies, whose only aim is to 
work up a happy thought. His 
friend may assume any attitude to- 
ward him he pleases, so long as the bond be- 
tween them is not broken. He is only anxious 
to believe that, just as something of his friend 



6o In Mernoriam. 

lives and works in him, so something of him 

may Hve and work in his friend. And 
LXVI. T , . . , 

now he begms to recognize that a cer- 
tain humanizing effect has come from his loss. 
The very desolation caused by it, like the 
blank occasioned by loss of sight, has made 
him easily pleased with trifles, but at the same 
time " kindly with his kind.'' The removal 
of some object of affection which is above us 
often turns our affection to that which is be- 
side or below us. 

If, during the day, the poet's imagination is 

occupied with the glorified spirit of 

his friend, at night it wanders to the 
resting place of his body, seeing his memorial 
tablet illumined by the moon, or glimmering 

like a ghost in the gray dawn. Even 

LXVIII . <=> J 

in sleep his fancy labors with images 
of his friend. At one time, the years of friend- 
ship come up again in all their freshness ; but 
alas ! when he turns to his friend, he finds a 
darkening trouble in his eye. Sleep has trans- 
ferred the distress in his own soul to the face 
of his friend. A fine piece of psychological 

observation ! At another time he 

LXIX 

dreams of universal desolation. He 
himself, crowned with thorns, is made the butt 
of public scorn, until an angel with low voice 
and bright look comes to his aid. 



Visions of Sleep and Waking, 6 1 

" He reach'd the glory of a hand, 

That seem'd to touch it into leaf: 
The voice was not the voice of grief, 
The words were hard to understand." 

With the single exception of Dante, no poet 
has made so many fine observations on the 
visions of sleep as Tennyson. Perhaps even 
finer are his observations on those waking vis- 
ions which he and, apparently, all persons of 
powerful imagination see, when they 
gaze fixedly into the dark. These 
visions are entirely beyond the control of the 
will. Accordingly, when the poet strives to 
paint the features of his friend upon the 
gloom among his waking visions, he finds he 

cannot : 

" the hues are faint 
And mix with hollow masks of night." 

These masks go on tumbling and mixing at 
their own pleasure, a strange, weird phantas- 
magoria, 

*' Till all at once beyojid the will 
I hear a wizard music roll, 
And thro' a lattice on the soul 
Looks thy fair face and makes it still." 

How often does the image which one has 
vainly tried to conjure up flash of itself be- 
fore the eye, when the will is quiescent ! 

Among the consistent dream-visions from 
the past that come to the poet, the 

LXXI 

most remarkable are those from a 



62 In Memorimn. 

summer tour which he made through France 
with his friend in 1832.^ So clear are these 
visions that he begs " Sleep, kinsman to death 
and trance and madness," to "bring an opiate 
trebly strong," and not only call up the past 
in all its reality and joy, but to blot out the 
sense of loss and wrong that comes from the 
present. So, in sleep at least, his friend will 
be restored to him, in a way foreshadowing the 
restoration that may be expected from Death. 
Death may give completely what sleep can 
give only blurred. So hope comes from many 
quarters. 

1 Compare the poem, /;/ the Valley of Canter etz. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

(Ixxii-lxxvii.) 

What his friend might have been. Vanity of 
fame aJid of monumefits. 

But the return of the anniversary of his 
friend's death (September 15th) brings back 
all the old feeling of loss, and sets 

. LXXII. 

the poet's imagination to work, fancy- 
ing all that might have been, had his friend 
been spared. But he is not now in a rebellious 
mood. True, the fame which he fore- 

LXXIII 

saw for his friend, as the reward of 
much usefulness, has not been realized ; but 
can he tell whether the world needed his 
friend at all ? " Great Nature is more wise 
than I," ^ he says elsewhere, and he says the 
same here, in other words : 

" I curse not nature, no, nor death ; 
For nothing is that errs from law." 

And, after all, what is fame t A mere shadow 
that, even at the best, lasts for a few years, 
but lays no hold on eternity. One can well 
afford to dispense with the short-lived, sub- 
1 To J. S., V. 9. 



64 Ii^ Menioriam. 

jective immortality of the Comtists,^ mere 
fame to which its object is utterly insensible, 
provided he obtain objective immortality, an 
ever-widening and deepening conscious lif<" 
What is even Shakespeare's fame '.omparea 
with eternal bliss ? Dante, who was himself 
by no means free from the " last infirmity of 
noble mind," has expressed this with great 
force and truth, in w^ords placed in the mouth 
of an enlightened soul in Purgatory : 

" The rumor of the world is but a breath 
Of wind, that now comes hence and now comes thence, 
And changes name, because it changes sides, 

" What fame wilt thou have more, if old thou shed 
From thee the flesh, than if thou hadst been dead 
Ere thou hadst ceased to babble *pap' and 'mon,'^ 

"From hence a thousand vears, which is a space 
More brief to the eternal than a wink 
Is to the circle that in heaven moves slowest ? 

" Your fame is as the greenness of the grass, 
That comes and goes, and he discolors it 
Who made it issue tender from the earth. " 3 

Indifference to fame naturally follows from 
a firm belief in immortality. It is, therefore, 

1 See Comte's Catechisme Positiviste, pp. 161 sqq., 
where this immortality is described in a very amusing, 
not to say absurd, way. 

2 " I] pappo e il dindi^'' childish words for bread and 
money. 

3 PHrg.,y\. 100-8; 1 1 5-7. 



Fame and Immortality. 65 

peculiarly characteristic of sincere Christians. 
Among pagans, fame was reckoned as one of 
the noblest motives, as we see in the Homeric 
poems and the Fdda. In the latter we find 
an excellent expression of the pagan feeling 
on the subject : " Cattle die ; friends die ; a 
man himself dies ; but fame dies never to him 
^b?.t^ets it well." ^ 

Thinking of the wise and great that have 
earned fame worthily, the poet recog- 
nizes in his dead friend a family like- 
ness to them, which he thinks might be worked 
up into something compelling a rec- 
ognition not unlike fame. But this 
elaboration he will not attempt, leaving his 
friend's worth to be judged by the measure of 
his own grief for his loss. Besides, 

"The world which credits what is done 
Is cold to all that might have been." 

But his friend has found his sphere of work 
elsewhere, and there, doubtless, his appointed 
task 

" Is wrought with tumult of acclaim." 

And even if he should choose to do for his 
friend what Dante did for Beatrice, 

^ 1 • • ^ ^1 LXXVI. 

raismg to his mterrupted career a 
monument of glorifying verse, what would it 

^ Hdvamdl, 75 ; cf. 76. 



66 In MemoriajH. 

profit? It too would perish in a few years, 

"before the mouldering of a yew," "ere half 

the lifetime of a.^*, oak." And, though 

LXXVII 

the poems of Hoiiier still last, there 
is no hope whatever for modern rhyme. It is 
doomed to early oblivion : 

" But what of that ? My darken'd ways 
Shall ring with music all the same ; 
To breathe my loss is more than fame, 
To utter love more sweet than praise." 



CHAPTER IX. 

(Ixxviii-lxxxiii.) 

Sorrow woven into life. The exa?nple of the 
friend followed. The moral world reco7i- 
structed. 

Another Christmas comes, in whose festivi- 
ties there is no sign of mournino^ for 

. . . LXXVIII. 

the departed, 

" No single tear, no mark of pain." 

This does not mean that Sorrow is dead, or 
has ceased to exert her purifying influence : 

" No — mixt with all this mystic frame, 
Her deep relations are the same, 
But with long use her tears are dry." 

She has been accepted and woven silently into 
Hfe. 

The family festivities suggest the thought 
that the poet mioht have been ex- 

LXXIX 

pected to find an object for his deep- 
est affections among his own kin, whereas he 
has said (ix. 5.) that his friend was more to 
him than his brothers. He assures his brother ^ 

1 Charles Tennyson, who afterwards changed his sur- 
name to Turner, was himself no mean poet. In 1827 



68 In Mcmoriam. 

that this implies no want of respect for him, 
who is worthy "to hold the costliest love in 
fee." But brothers are "one in kind," being 
moulded under the same influences, whereas 
the stranger often possesses a difference which 
gives zest to friendship. 

" And so my wealth resembles thine, 
But he was rich where I was poor, 
And he supplied my want the more 
As his unlikeness fitted mine." 

The difference between himself and his 
friend sup^gests the question how the 

LXXX 

latter would have acted, had the case 
been reversed ; that is, had Tennyson died and 
Hallam been spared. He feels sure that the 
bereaved one would then have felt 

" A grief as deep as life or thought, 
But stay'd in peace with God and man," 

turning his "burthen into gain." This exam- 
ple love prompts the poet to follow. 

Amid such thoughts as these. Sorrow is be- 
comino^ so gracious that he is almost 

LXXXI 

giving up his grudge against Death, 

the two brothers published conjointly a small volume of 
poems, entitled " Poems by two Brothers," the contents 
of which appear in some American editions of Tenny- 
son's poems. The second volume of Macmillaji' s Maga- 
zine (i860) contains four sonnets (pp. 98 sq.) and a versi- 
fied legend (p. 226) by Charles Tennyson, who was a 
clergyman. The third brother, Frederick Tennyson, was 
also a poet. 



Moral World Reconstructed. 69 

when the thought strikes him that, had his 
friend Uved, he himself might have come to 
know a yet deeper love than that of his youth, 
and his grudge is renewed. 

" But Death returns an answer sweet : 
• My sudden frost was sudden gain, 
And gave all ripeness to the grain 
It might have drawn from after-heat.' " 

And so he again becomes reconciled to 
Death's work, with only a little re- 
sentment, because he cannot com- 
municate with his friend. Altogether, a new 
life is stirring in him, so full of receptivity and 
energy that he is impatient with the 
Spring because it comes too slowly 
to be in sympathy with him and his feelings : 

" O thou, new-year, delaying long, 
Delayest the sorrow in my blood, 
That longs to burst a frozen bud. 
And flood a fresher throat with song." 

In a word, the poet's shattered moral world 
has been reconstructed, if not completely, at 
least far enough to make rational, aimful ac- 
tivity possible for him. He has done with 
what he calls " Confusions of a wasted 
youth." 

And here we may ask : What influences 
have effected this reconstruction ? The an- 
swer is, Time and Reason. The former, by 
dulling the emotional pain which converts the 



/o /;/ MemoriavL. 

visible world into chaos, has made it possible 
for the understanding to recognize that " Noth- 
ing is that errs from law " : the second, intro- 
ducing order into the moral chaos, which the 
understanding always produces, finds justice 
and love in the essence of things : 

" I know transplanted human worth 
Will bloom to profit otherwhere." (Ixxii. 3.) 

The injustice which the understanding finds 
in temporal life Reason wipes out, by pointing 
to eternal life. Justice is in the spiritual world 
what mechanical law is in the material. These 
two worlds constitute the moral world, wherein 
man is called to choose and act. 



CHAPTER X. 

(Ixxxiv-lxxxix.) 

The ^^ low beginnings of content ^'^ resulting in (i) 
acceptance of loss, (2) new attachmeiits, (3) 
power to dwell with pleasure in the past. 

In his altered mood, the poet is able to do 
three things impossible before : First, to con- 
template, with only a slight reawakening of 
bitterness, the life that would have been his, 
if his friend had been spared ; second, to enter 
upon new friendships ; third, to live over again 
the past and revisit the scenes of it, with a cer- 
tain delight. 

(I.) The picture of the life that might have 
been is drawn with infinite tender- 

LXXXIV 

ness and warmth. The poet sees his 
friend daily growing in all the graces of man- 
hood, " a central warmth diffusing bliss " on 
all his kin, which would have included himself.-^ 

1 Arthur Hallam was to have married Tennyson's 
sister Emily. Among his published Remai7is there are 
two poems referring to her, " To two Sisters," " To the 
loved One." Both are marked by exquisite purity and 
tenderness, such as we rarely find save in the Italian 
poets. 



72 In Memoriam. 

He sees him a power for good in society and 
state, earning an honest, unsought fame among 
men, and the approval of God. He sees him- 
self "an honor'd guest," walking by the side 
of his friend through all the phases of a noble 
life, rich in good, until at last 

" He that died in Holy Land 
Would reach us out the shining hand, 
And take us as a single soul." 

Perhaps there does not exist in literature any 
other description of a noble life equal to this, 
unless it be that which occurs in the fourth 
book (third ode) of Dante's Convivio. The 
following is a literal rendering : 

" The soul which this goodness adorns 
Holds it not within itself concealed ; 
For from the beginning, when it weds the body, 
It shows it even unto death. 
Obedient, sweet, and modest 
It is in its Earliest Age ; 
And it adorns its person with beauty 
Through the harmony of its parts. 
In Manhood temperate and strong, 
Full of love and courteous praise, 
And only in deeds of loyalty it takes delight. 
It is in its Old Age 

Prudent and just; and generosity is heard of it; 
And in itself it rejoices 
To hear and speak of others' good. 
Then in the Fourth Part of life 
It reweds itself to God, 
Contemplating the end which awaits it, 
And blesses the times that are past." 



Turning back to Life. 73 

(II.) With the old conviction (xxvii. 4) con- 
firmed that 

" 'T is better to have loved and lost 
Than never to have loved at all," 

the poet turns warmly to a second friend ^ of 
early days, who, with a view to allevi- 
ate their " common grief," has asked 
him, kindly but half reproachfully, about his 
condition, and whether sorrow for his loss has 
weakened his faith and hope in higher things, 
and blasted his affections. In true Dantesque 
fashion, he replies to all the three questions in 
turn. First, he tells of the years of sorrow 
long-drawn-out that followed his great loss, 
and how, notwithstanding his pain, he has 
found, through the influence of his friend, 
" in grief a strength reserved " preventing him 
from swerving "to works of weakness." He 
has continually recognized that the possession 
of a will free to choose life or death imposes 
on man heavy responsibilities of action : 

" Yet none could better know than I, 
How much of act at human hands 
The sense of human will demands, 
By which we dare to live or die." 

1 Who the friend is, is not apparent ; possibly E. L. 
Lushington, or Rev. W. H. Brookfield, on whose death 
the poet wrote a sonnet, containing these lines : 

" How oft with him we paced that walk of limes, 
Him, the lost light of those dawn-golden times, 
Who loved you well ! Now both are gone to rest." 



74 If^ Meinoriam. 

Second^ he gives assurance that grief has not 
undermined his faith, by telHng what he be- 
lieves with regard to his lost friend : 

" God's finger touch'd him, and he slept. 

" The great Intelligences fair ^ 

That range above our mortal state, 
In circle round the blessed gate, 
Received and gave him welcome there ; 

" And led him thro' the blissful climes, 
And show'd him in the fountain fresh 
All knowledge that the sons of flesh 
Shall gather in the cycled times." 

1 " The movers of that [third heaven] are substances 
separate from matter, that is Intelligeiices, whom the 
common sort call Afigels.^'' — Dante, Convivio, ii. 5. — 
" The First Agent, that is, God, impresses his power 
upon some things after the manner of a direct ray, and 
on others after the manner of a reflected splendor. 
Whence, on the Intelligences the divine Light radiates 
without medium ; on the others it is reflected from these 
Intelligences that are first illuminated." — Ibid., iii. 14. — 
" In certain books translated from the Arabic, sepa- 
rate substances, which we call Angels, are called l7itelli- 
gences, perhaps for the reason that substances of this 
kind always have actual [never mere potential] intelli- 
gence. In books translated from the Greek, however, 
they are CdMed Intellects ox Minds ^ — Thomas Aquinas, 
Sum. Theol., Pt. I. q. 79, art. 10. Among the Christian 
Gnostics these intelligences were called ^ons {a\fav^%). 
These are mentioned even in the Epistle to the Hebrews, 
i. 2 : " By whom also He made the /Eons " {aXuvas, curi- 
ously mistranslated ' worlds ' and ' ages,' in our English 
versions). 



Faith and Love Intact. 75 

Third, he affirms that his affections, so far 
from being blasted by grief, have been deep- 
ened and purified by it. He loves his lost 
friend with a friendship 

" Which masters Time indeed, and is 
Eternal, separate from fears : 
The all-assuming months and years 
Can take no part away from this." 

Nay more, though every season, every wind 
and wave recall the " old affection of the 
tomb," that very affection seems to say to 
him : 

" Arise, and get thee forth and seek 
A friendship for the years to come." 

Accordingly he accepts with pleasure the prof- 
fered affection of the other friend, and re- 
turns it, though still forced to admit, 

" I could not, if I would, transfer 
The whole I felt for him to you." 

In a word, while loving the incomparable friend 
more than ever, yea, with the great passion of 
his life, his heart is still fresh and open to 
other affections. 

He is now again in full sympathy with Na- 
ture, the sure sign of spiritual health : 

LXXXVI 

the shadows of Doubt and Death are 

lifted from his fancy, which now exultingly flies 

** From belt to belt of crimson seas 
On leagues of odor streaming far, 



j6 In Memoriam. 

To where in yonder orient star 
A hundred spirits whisper * Peace.' " 

(III.) The poet now revisits with delight 
Cambridge, where he and his friend 

LXXXVII 

had passed so many happy, fruitful 
days.-^ He gives us a charming picture of the 
best side of university life, and of Arthur Hal- 
lam, telling how in his rapt moments his fellows 
saw 

" The God within him light his face, 

" And seem to lift the form, and glow 
In azure orbits heavenly-wise ; 
And over those ethereal eyes 
The bar of Michael Angelo." 2 

The joy at the thought of all this, alternating 
with the sense of loss, makes the 

LXXXVIII 

poet feel the fierce extremes of 
emotion ; so that, though he would " prelude 
woe," which is disharmony, he is mastered by 
the fundamental harmony of the universe : 

" The glory of the sum of things 
Will flash along the chords and go." 

We now get a picture of Hallam's visits to 
Tennyson's early home in Lincoln- 

LXXXIX 

shire, and of the family life at Som- 

1 Tennyson went to Cambridge in 1828 and there met 
Hall am. 

2 The portrait of Hallam prefixed to his Remaijts 
shows this bar, though but slightly. It is very marked 
in the portraits in profile of Michael Angelo. 



The Beauty of the Past. yy 

ersby Rectory. And what an atmosphere of 
simple happiness, love, and refinement ! No 
wonder that Hallam hated cities, which 

" merge ... in form and gloss 
The picturesque of man and man." 



CHAPTER XI. 

(xc-xcvi.) 

Desire still to see the friend in any for7n. Dif- 
ficulties. Trance. Ecstatic tmion with the 
glorified spirit. Vision of truth. Doubt. 

Having thus, with much pain and struggle, 
pieced together a new life, of which chasten- 
ing sorrow is an essential element, the poet 
asks himself how it would be if his friend 
should now return to him and annihilate this 
sorrow. Would he not be disconcerted, like 
the heir to a great estate by the restoration of 
his father to life, or a happy wife by the resus- 
citation of an old, accepted lover ? 
No ! no ! The man who could feel so 

" tasted love with half his mind, 
Nor ever drank the inviolate spring 
Where nighest heaven." 

Gladly would he have his friend return to him. 

" Ah dear, but come thou back to me : 

"Whatever change the years have wrought, 
I find not yet one lonely thought 
That cries against my wish for thee." 

Yea, he would be glad to have his friend come 



Desire to see the Dead. 79 

back to him in two forms, to suit different 
seasons ; in the spring assuniing the 
form he wore on earth ; in the warm, 
bright summer, his glorified form, appearing 
" hke a finer fight in fight." ^ At the same 
time he reafizes that, if his friend should ap- 
pear to him, he might think the vis- 

XCII 

ion a mere hallucination. Nay, even 
if it should recall some event from their past 
lives, he might take this for a trick of memory, 
while, if it uttered prophecies or warnings 
which afterwards came true, they would seem 

" But spiritual presentiments 
And such refraction of events 
As often rises ere they rise." ^ 

From all this the poet wisely concludes : 
"I shall not sec thee." His friend, 
now a glorified Intefiigence, "sepa- 
rate from matter," will not reveal himself to 

1 Compare the beautiful lines in Dante, Parad., viii. 
16 sq. 

" E come in fiamma favilla si vede, 

E come in voce voce si discerne," etc. 

- In a biographical sketch of Henry Fitzmaurice Hal- 
lam, who, like his brother, died young, — a sketch writ- 
ten by (Sir) Henry Sumner Maine and Franklin Lush- 
ington and prefixed to the brother's Remains, — we find 
this curious passage : " He was conscious nearly to the 
last, and met his early death (of which his presenti- 
ments for several years had been frequent and very sin- 
gular) with calmness and fortitude " (p. Ivi.). 



So In Mcmoriavi. 

the senses, which are related only to matter. 
But is there no other, no direct means of com- 
munication between souls ? ^ May not the 
free spirit itself come, 

" Where all the nerve of sense is numb ; 
Spirit to Spirit, Ghost to Ghost" ? 

And the poet begs his friend, if such possi- 
bihty there be, to descend from his " sightless 
range with gods," that is, from the invisible, 
divine world, and to hear 

" The wish too strong for words to name ; 
That in this blindness of the frame 
My Ghost may_/tv/ that thine is near." 2 

In other words, he begs his friend to reveal 
himself as pure spirit to pure spirit, which 
alone would be true spiritual communication.^ 

1 Cf. Aylvier's Field: 

" Star to star vibrates light : may soul to soul 
Strike thro' a finer element of her own ? "' 

2 St. Bonaventura, in speaking of the ecstatic union 
of the soul with God, says : " In this transition, if it is 
to be perfect, all intellectual activities must be aban- 
doned, and the whole apex of affection transferred and 
transformed into God. But this is a mystical and most 
secret thing, which no one knows save him who receives 
it, no one receives save him who deserves it." — Itinera- 
rhim Mentis in Demn, chap. vii. 

^ Compare Lord Houghton's Strangers Yet : 

" Will it ever more be thus — 
Spirits still impervious? 
Shall we ever fairly stand 



Desire to see the Dead. 8 1 

But the question arises : What must be the 

internal condition of the man who 

• • 1 xciv. 

may hope to have such spiritual com- 
munications from the " silent, earnest spirit- 
realm " ? He must be " pure at heart and 
sound in head," " with divine affections bold," 
his spirit "at peace with all." Only such a 
man can "call the spirits from their golden 
day." 

" They haunt the silence of the breast, 
Imaginations cahn and fair, 
The memory like a cloudless air, 
The conscience as a sea at rest : 

" But when the heart is full of din, 

And doubt beside the portal waits, 
They can but listen at the gates, 
And hear the household jar within." i 

In the quiet of a summer night, when all 

nature is ruled by a spirit of har- 

xcv. 
mony, the poet finds such a season 

Soul to soul, as hand to hand? 
Are the bounds eternal set 
To maintain us strangers yet." 

Corjihill Magazine, vol. i. p. 448. 

1 Compare Shelley's exquisite lines : 

" I am as a spirit who has dwelt 
Within his heart of hearts, and I have felt 
His feelings, and have thought his thoughts, and known 
The inmost converse of his soul, the tone 
Unheard but in the silence of the blood, 
When all the pulses in their multitude 
Image the trembling calm of summer seas." 



82 In Memoriain. 

of inner calm, and, in order the better to place 
his own soul in relation with that of his friend, 
he reads "the noble letters of the dead." As 
he proceeds, love and faith and vigor all grow 
strong. 

'* So word by word, and line by line, 

The dead man touch'd me from the past, 
And all at once it seem'd at last 
His living soul was flash'd on mine." 

But this is not the soul in its mundane, unde- 
veloped condition : it is the soul that has seen 
the ultimate reality and truth, which it now 
imparts directly to the soul of the poet : 

** And mine in his was wound and whirl'd 
About empyreal heights of thought, 
And came on that which is, and caught 
The deep pulsations of the world, 

"Ionian music measuring out 

The steps of Time — the shocks of Chance — 
The blows of Death. At length my trance 
Was cancell'd, stricken thro' with doubt." 

That these lines record an actual experience 
there can be no doubt. The poet tells us that 
he was in a trance. Lest this assertion should 
be regarded as a mere poetic phrase, it may 
be well to say that Tennyson from very 
early life has been subject to trances. In 
proof of this, I am allowed to quote from a 
letter written by him in 1874 to a gentleman 
in this country, who had sent him an essay on 



Trance. 83 

certain remarkable mental effects of anaesthet- 
ics. He says : " I have never had any reve- 
lations through anaesthetics ; but a kind of 
' waking trance ' (this for lack of a better word) 
I have frequently had quite up from boy- 
hood when I have been all alone. This has 
often come upon me through repeating my 
own name to myself silently, till all at once as 
it were out of the intensity of the conscious- 
ness of individuality the individuality itself 
seemed to dissolve and fade away into bound- 
less being — and this not a confused state but 
the clearest of the clearest, the surest of the 
surest, utterly beyond words — where death 
was an almost laughable impossibility — the 
loss of personality (if so it were) seeming no 
extinction but the only true life. 

" I am ashamed of my feeble description. 
Have I not said the state is utterly beyond 
words ? But in a moment when I come back 
to my normal state of * sanity ' I am ready to 
fight for inein liehes Ich, and hold that it will 
last for aeons of aeons." 

In his trance,^ the poet "came on that 
which is " (to ovtoxs ov), the ultimate reality, 
and from that point of view was able to see 

1 Trance is a corruption of the Latin transittis, a word 
used in the Middle Age to translate the Greek iKtrraa-is 
or ecstasy. Equivalent expressions were excessus ineii- 
taliSf excessus mejitis, raphis jjiejitis, ascensio, extasis. 



84 In Me7}ioriam, 

the world as a perfect harmony, in which even 
Chance and Death were necessary and con- 
cordant elements.^ That such experiences, 
though rare, have fallen to the lot of deeply 
religious souls in all ages is a fact most amply 
attested. Several cases are mentioned in the 
Bible. Of these the most remarkable is that 
of Paul the Apostle, recorded in the twelfth 
chapter of the second Epistle to the Corin- 
thians. St. Thomas Aquinas discusses the 
nature of this ecstasy at great length,^ and 
says : " The soul of man is sometimes rapt, 
when it is elevated by the divine spirit to su- 
pernatural things, with abstraction from sen- 
sible things." Whenever in the Bible the 
phrases " I was in the spirit," " the spirit of 
the Lord came upon me," etc., occur, they al- 
ways imply ecstasy. St. Bonaventura relates 
that St. Francis of Assisi once fell into a trance, 
in which he saw a six-winged seraph, nailed to 
a cross, and that he ever afterwards bore the 
stigmata of the crucifixion.^ And the whole 
delightful work. The SouVs Progress in God, is 
nothing but a guide to such ecstasy. Dante 

1 An exactly similar experience is claimed for Py- 
thagoras, " that being outside of the body he heard a 
melodious harmony" ('E/ferj/os i<^f) ws e^ca yev6iJ.€uos rov 
edofiaros aK-fiKoa efifieXods apfxovias. Schol. Ambros. to 
Odyssey I. 371). 

2 Supz. T/ieo/., II. 2 q. clxxv. 

^ Itinera}'. Mentis in Deum, chapp. i., vii. 



Ecstasy. 85 

tells us with regard to himself : " After this 
sonnet there appeared to me a wonderful vis- 
ion, in which I saw things that made me con- 
clude to say no more of this blessed one until 
such time as I could more worthily treat of 
her." ^ The result was the Divine Coiiiedy. 

But it is not only among Christians that 
such experiences have occurred. Not to men- 
tion the trances ascribed in late times to Py- 
thagoras, or the references to visions of the 
Divine in Plato - and Aristotle,^ we find Por- 
phyry, in his biography of his master, Ploti- 
nus, saying that this philosopher had frequent 
trances, in which he saw " that God who has 
neither shape nor form (iSea), and is exalted 
above all intellect and all that is intelligible," 
four such trances having been vouchsafed dur- 
ing his own acquaintance with him. Nay, he 
even goes farther, and affirms that he himself 
had one such experience, in his sixty-eighth 
year. To attain such states was the end and 
aim of all Neoplatonic philosophy, as well as 
of much Christian Gnosticism. 

It appears, then, that certain persons of 
pure and deeply religious nature, when under 
the influence of a strong spiritual love, and 
when their souls are calm, collected, and free 
from the irritation of the senses, rise to a finer 

1 Vita Niiova, last chapter. - See Sympositwi.-p. 211. 
8 Metaphysics, xii. 7 : 10721^ 24. 



S6 In Memoriam. 

form of consciousness, in which they become 
clearly and directly aware of those universal, 
spiritual energies which control the world, and 
which, in their very nature, are beyond the 
reach of ordinary sense-perception. With re- 
gard to such experiences these three facts are 
well attested: (i) That they are infinitely 
sweeter and more satisfying to the soul than 
any other ; (2) that they impart to the mind a 
certainty of higher things which nothing else 
gives; (3) that they cannot be expressed in 
human concepts or in human speech, except 
through vague symbols and parables, which 
point rather to blessedness than to knowledge. 
Paul tells us that he " heard things unspeak- 
able (or unspoken) which a man may not utter." 
Dante says : 

" Within that heaven which of His light takes most 
Was I, and things beheld which to rehearse 
Who thence descends hath neither wit nor words ; 

Because, when it approacheth its desire, 
Our intellect goes deep'ning down so far 
That after it the memory cannot go. 

But yet whatever of the blessed realm 
I had the power to treasure in my mind 
Shall be the matter of the present song." 1 

And when at last he " comes on that which is," 
and sees the primal fount of being, he can dis- 
tinguish nothing : he is only supremely blest.^ 

^ Par ad., i. 4 sqq. 2 gee p. 25, note. 



Ecstasy. ^j 

In words almost identical in meaning with 
those quoted above, Tennyson says of his 
trance : 

" Vague words ! but ah, how hard to frame 
In matter-moulded forms of speech, 
Or ev'ii for intellect to reach 
Thro' memory that which I became." ^ 

That such trances are closely akin to the 
deepest poetic insight is shown by the utter- 
ances of many true poets. Wordsworth's lines 
will occur to every one. They are quoted here 
as the highest modern expression of ecstasy : 

" Such was the Boy — but for the growing Youth 
What soul was his, when, from the naked top 
Of some bold headlartd he beheld the sun 
Rise up and bathe the world in light ! He looked — 
Ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth 
And ocean's liquid mass beneath him lay 
In gladness and deep joy. The clouds were touched, 
And in their silent faces did he read 
Unutterable love. Sound needed none, 
Nor any voice of joy ; his spirit drank 
The spectacle : sensation, soul, and form 
All melted into him ; they swallowed up 
His animal being ; in them did he live, 
And by them did he live ; they were his life. 
In such access of mind, in such high hour 
Of visitation from the living God, 

1 Compare Dante, Parad.y i. 70 sqq. 

" Transhumanize to signify by words 
None may : but let th' example serve for those 
For whom grace holds th' experience in reserve." 



SB III Memoriam. 

Thought was not; in enjoyment it expired. 
No thanks he breathed, he proffered no request ; 
Rapt into still communion which transcends 
The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, 
His mind was a thanksgiving to the power 
That made him ; it was blessedness and love." ^ 

Goethe doubtless puts his own deepest insight 
into the Chorus Mysticus, with which he closes 
Faust, his great life-work : 

"All the transient 
Is but a parable ; 
The unattainable 
Here grows attainment ; 
The indescribable — 
Here it is done." 

It is perhaps worth while observing that, in the 
Prologue to Faust, Goethe makes the world 
seem a perfect harmony to the archangels, 
who see the principle and whole of it.^ Only 
to the narrow intellect of Mephistopheles is 
everything disharmony. 

It has seemed necessary to dwell at some 
length on this matter of ecstasy, because it is, 
in a sense, the kernel of the whole poem, 
which everywhere teaches us that knowing is 
not the highest faculty of the soul, but that 
above it is another, which alone can give us 
the truths necessary for rational life. This is 

1 Excursion, Bk. I. 

2 " Und alle deine hohen Werkc 

Sind herrlich wie am ersten Tag." 



Ecstasy, ^9 

the faculty of faith, whose form is justice, and 
which, when at its highest, sees justice or har- 
mony everywhere. It has been shown that an 
ecstatic vision of the absolute harmony has 
been claimed by some of the purest and no- 
blest of human kind. The question remams : 
What is the value of such visions ? Seemg 
that they leave behind them no clear know- 
ledge but only certain blessed feelmgs that 
seek 'expression in symbols or myths, often 
strange and fanciful, like St. Francis' six- 
winged seraph, what confidence can the under- 
standing place in such symbols ? Can they be 
fairly interpreted so as to be a gmde and stay 
to human life ? Every soul, it seems, must an- 
swer this question for itself, no matter whether 
it has had the experience itself, or only learnt 
of it from others. Tennyson at first could not 
place full confidence in his vision. It 

" Was cancell'd, stricken thro' with doubt." 
Morning found him a skeptic. 

Shall this doubt be put away, as something 
base? The simple, tender spirit of ^^^^ 
the sister says reverently : " Doubt 
is Devil-born." He knows not : he might even 
be inclined to admit this, were it not for the 
example of his friend, who always "fought his 
doubts." He knows that in the highest region 
of the soul it is not doubt, but impurity, that 
mars and darkens. 



90 In Memoriam, 

" Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds, 
At last he beat his music out. 
There lives more faith in honest doubt, 
Believe me, than in half the creeds. " 

So, following his friend's example, he will fight 
his doubts and gather strength, not blinding 
his judgment. In this way he will arrive at 
that power 

" Which makes the darkness and the light, 
And dwells not in the light alone." 



CHAPTER XII. 

(xcvii-ciii.) 

The presence of the lost one^ as a universal spirit^ 
begins to be felt, though only at times. The 
old sore still easily opened. A happy ^ signifi- 
cant dream. 

That union with the universal which the 
poet experienced in his trance, if it has not 
convinced his understandinfr, has not 

, XCVII. 

been without its effect upon his feel- 
ings. He now finds his love reflected from all 
the world. 

" My love has talk'd with rocks and trees ; 
He finds on misty mountain-ground 
His own vast shadow glory-crown'd ; 
He sees himself in all he sees." 

Toward his friend, who now lives, " in vastness 
and in mystery," he feels like a wife who has 
remained in the simple household ways of her 
maidenhood, while her husband has risen to 
heights of thought or science which she can- 
not comprehend. 

" She knows not what his greatness is ; 
For this, for all, she loves him more." 



92 In Mcmoriam. 

But, for all this, the sense of loss still re- 
mains, ready to be galled by every 
event that breaks in upon the quiet 
tenor of life. Some one is going on a con- 
tinental tour, in which he will visit Vienna. 
This recalls the fact that the loved one died in 
that city, and makes the old horror of it ran- 
kle. The poet has never seen, will never see, 
Vienna, which, despite all the glowing descrip- 
tions of it he has heard, he is prepared to re- 
gard as haunted by an evil fate. 

The anniversary of his friend's death, though 

ushered in with all the beauty of the autumn, 

brings to him only cause for mourn- 

XCIX . . • 

ing. Still, it is no longer lonely 
grief. To all those for whom the day brings 
similar grief he feels that 

" To-day they count as kindred souls ; 
They know me not, but mourn with me." 

The poet's family has to bid farewell to its 

old home in Lincolnshire, and the 
c. . 

scenes amid which he has so often 

wandered with his friend. The presence of 

the dear one is everywhere : 

** I find no place that does not breathe 
Some gracious memory of my friend." 

" And, leaving these, to pass away, 
I think once more he seems to die." 

The old home will pass into new hands, 



CJiange of Scene. 93 

which will have no pious care for the many 
things interwoven with the poet's 
most tender feelings — the garden, 
the brook, the grove ; 

" And year by year our memory fades 
From all the circle of the hills." 

He is bound to his native spot, not only by 
the associations of a happy boyhood, 
but also by the memories of blessed 
hours passed there in converse with his friend, 
and he cannot tell which tie is the stronger. 
For a time they fight in his soul, but at last, 
when he turns 

" To leave the pleasant fields and farms ; 
They mix in one another's arms 
To one pure image of regret." 

But on the night before leaving the old 
home the poet has a Dantesque vis- 
ion of his friend, which leaves a feel- 
ing of contentment in his soul. He dreams 
that he is dwelling in a " palace of art." In 
the centre of this stands a statue, which, 
though veiled, he recognizes to be his friend, 
and before which maidens play and sing of all 
that is "wise and good and graceful." Sud- 
denly a dove flies in, bearing "a summons from 
the sea." The maidens, learning that he must 
go, " weep and wail," but accompany him to 
a " little shallop " lying in the stream below. 
The shallop glides down the stream, which 



94 -^^^ Memoriam. 

ever widens between vaster-growing banks, and, 
as it does so, the maidens gather strength, 
grace, and majesty, while the poet feels in 
himself 

" the thews of Anakim,i 
The pulses of a Titan's heart," 

and power to sing the mightiest and deepest 
of songs. At last they reach the great Ocean, 
and see before them a great, splendid ship, 
with the lost one standing on the deck. The 
poet boards her, and falls in silence on the 
neck of his friend ; whereat the maidens wail, 
and upbraid him for deserting them, who had 
so long faithfully served him. He is so rapt 
that he pays no heed to them ; but his friend 
bids them come aboard. They do so, 

*' And while the wind began to sweep 
A music out of sheet and shroud, 
We steer'd her toward a crimson cloud 
That landlike slept along the deep." 

This dream was, doubtless, a real expe- 
rience. Still, there is no mistaking its resem- 
blance, in some points, to the Palace of Art ^ 
in others, to Recollections of the Arabian Nights^ 
and, in others still, to the Pas si?tg of Arthur. 
No one has yet told us where our dreams come 
from, or whether they all come from the same 
source. Who shall tell us ? Dante, whose ex- 
perience in such matters was deep and broad, 
says : 

1 Deuteron. ix. 2. 



A Happy Dream. 95 

" O Fancy that dost steal us so at times 

From outer things, that we are unaware 

Though thousand trumpets round about us blare ! 

What moveth thee, if sense afford thee naught ? 

'T is light that moves thee, which in heaven takes 

form, 
Self-moved, or else thro' will that guides it down."i 

He elsewhere speaks of the hour at which 

" our mind, a pilgrim most 
From flesh, and least enthralled by thoughts, 
In power of vision is well-nigh divine." ^ 

At all events, the poet can console himself 
with the thought that, at the end of his earthly 
career, he will meet, face to face, the friend 
who has so long stood a veiled statue in the 
halls of his soul, before whom every muse or 
power of his spirit has made music, and that, 
into the glorious ship of that new, double life, 
these powers will accompany him in all their 
integrity. 

1 Purg., xvii. 13 sqq. 

2 Purg., ix. 16 sqq. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

(civ-cxiv.) 

Though our life at present is full of disappoint- 
me?it and sorrow^ the poet will embrace it, and 
let sorrow make hi7?i wise. The wisdo7?i buried 
with his friend. Kjiowledge and Wisdojn. 

Another Christmas finds the poet in a new 
home, in which lie feels himself a 

CIV 

stranger. Here too the Christmas 
bells ring ; but, alas ! 

" Like strangers' voices here they sound, 
In lands where not a memory strays, 
Nor landmark breathes of other days, 
But all is new unhallow'd ground." 

Removal too "has broke the bond of dying 

use." This year there shall be no 
cv. . 

Christmas celebration, no old-fash- 
ioned merriment : 

" For who would keep an ancient form 
Thro' which the spirit breathes no more ? " 

He will hold the night *' solemn to the past." 
There shall be no dance or motion, save that 
of the gleaming worlds which brighten in the 



Life accepted Anezv. 97 

cloudless east, whose revolutions mark the 
lapse of the ages. To these he prays : 
" Run out your measured arcs and lead 
The closing cycle rich in good." 

When the midnight bells strike up, the poet 
breaks forth into a song, exhorting 
them to ring out the old epoch, with 
all its sin, its strife, and its suffering, and ring 
in the better time. In this noble song we 
have a foretaste of that fierce arraignment of 
the life of the present day which characterizes 
some of the poet's later productions. Deeply 
religious by nature, like his friend Carlyle, he 
cannot reconcile himself to a life which, having 
no eye for the spiritual world, and no ear for 
the thunders of Sinai, takes a golden calf for 
its God, and political economy for its moral 
law. And yet that is the life which the great 
majority of mankind in our day lead. No 
wonder that he cries out, 

" Ring out the darkness of the land; 
Ring in the Christ that is to be." 

Before we can ever again heartily celebrate 
Christmas, we must have a new Christ. The 
old one is dead, leaving the festival but an 
empty form. Rather than be guilty 
of the hypocrisy of adhering to it, 
he will celebrate the birthday of his glorified 
friend, that living ideal, which fills his soul 
with aspiration after all good. 



98 In Memoriam. 

" We keep the day. With festal cheer, 
With books and music, surely we 
Will drink to him, whate'er he be, 
And sing the songs he loved to hear." 

So, at least, he can be sincere. 

But in spite of the materialism and wretched- 
ness of the present life, he will not 
CVIII. . 

flee from it, shutting himself out from 

his kind, like a hermit, or stiffening into stone 
with grief, like Niobe. " Faith without works 
is dead"; vacant aspiration utterly profitless. 
However potent a man's yearning be, he can 
imagine nothing in the highest heaven but his 
" own phantom chanting hymns " ; nothing in 
the deepest abyss of death but " the reflex of 
a human face." ^ Instead of spending his days 
in selfish, contemptuous seclusion, he will ac- 
cept human life as he finds it, with all its 
disappointments and sorrows. These will, at 
least, teach him some of the wisdom which his 
friend held in store. 

" 'T is held that sorrow makes us wise, 
Whatever wisdom sleep with thee." 

1 Omar Khayyam has expressed this thought very 
forcibly, though in a different spirit : 

" I sent my Soul through the Invisible, 
Some letter of the After-life to spell: 

And by and by my Soul return'd to me, 
And answer'd ' I Myself am Heav'n and Hell': 

" Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire, 
And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fir*-, 

Cast on the Darkness, into which Ourselves, 
So late emerg'd from, shall so soon expire." 



The Friend'' s Worth, 99 

But, alas ! how much wisdom does so sleep ! 
And he proceeds to describe, in words 
such as only love can dictate, his 
friend's intellect, eloquence, artistic insight, 
lofty aspiration, moral purity, profound but 
temperate love of freedom, and, last, his manly 
tenderness : 

" And manhood fused with female grace 
In such a sort, the child would twine 
A trustful hand, unask'd, in thine, 
And find his comfort in thy face." 

All these aspects of wisdom the poet has seen 
and loved. Shall they remain without effect 
upon him, merely because the bearer of them 
has been removed from sight ? Surely not ; and 
he goes on to describe the power exerted by 
his friend's wisdom upon all classes 
of men, old and young, weak and 
strong, loyal and proud, the fawning hypocrite, 
the stern, the flippant, the brazen fool, and 
lastly upon himself, in whom it woke deep, un- 
fathomable spiritual love 

" that will not tire, 
And, born of love, the vague desire 
That spurs an imitative will." 

All this wisdom was simple and genuine, the 
outcome of a " high nature, amorous 

CXI 

of the good," no mere hypocrisy or 
play-acting, such as the "churP in spirit" may 

1 Eorlas and ceorlas, earls and churls, is the Anglo- 
Saxon for "gentle and simple." 



100 hi Memoriam. 

practise for fashion's sake. It was no mere 
veneer covering a coarse, coltish nature, but 
"the native growth of noble mind," of a soul 
looking out from an eye 

" Where God and Nature met in light ; 

"And thus he bore without abuse 

The grand old name of gentleman,^ 
Defamed by every charlatan, 
And soil'd with all ignoble use." 

Having seen such a miracle of perfection, 
such a "novel power," so unlike any- 
thing else he has ever known, he 
finds it hard to rise to any enthusiasm for the 
" glorious insufficiencies " of other persons. 
His friend was like a cloud-compelling Jove, 
ruling the tempests of thought, and by faith 
making serene the heaven of the soul. What 
might not have been expected in the 

CXI 1 1 

future from such a man ? The thought 
that Sorrow is the nurse of Wisdom does not 
quite console the poet for the disappointed 
hopes of the world. 

" 'T is held that sorrow makes us wise ; 

Yet how much wisdom sleeps with thee 
Which not alone had guided me, 
But served the seasons that may rise." 

The " might-have-been " still looms up in glori- 
ous regret-bringing proportions before him. 

1 See note on p. 99. 



The Friend's Worth. loi 

He sees his friend a pillar of state, the hero 
of his age, by his example and energy guiding 
humanity through tempest and shock of ration- 
ahsm and revolt to a loftier plane of life, with 
nobler issues. Here the poet clearly realizes 
the nature of the conflict in which the world 
is now engaged. It is a conflict between two 
powers of the soul, understanding and faith, 
or knowledge and wisdom. Faith or wisdom 
has to embody itself in an institution with 
symbolic observances, ere it can appeal to the 
mass of mankind. Such an institution, if it is 
not carefully watched, and its symbolism pre- 
vented from being taken for the thing sym- 
bolized, is sure to arrogate to itself divine 
authority and encroach upon the institutions 
of the understanding. In a word, the Church 
continually tends to encroach upon the State, 
in virtue of a pretended divine authority, and 
the State under this influence continually tends 
to claim authority by the grace of God. It 
was against these tendencies that Dante wrote 
his De Monarchia^ the first great political trea- 
tise of the modern world, and directed the bit- 
terest invectives of his Divine Comedy} It is 
these tendencies that in recent times have 
brought about Rationalism, that revolt of the 
understanding against the higher reason. In 
rebelling against the degenerate institutions of 

1 See Parad., xxviii. 



102 /;/ Memoriam. 

reason, the understanding has rebelled against 
reason itself, and so men have lost hold of the 
spiritual and the divine, and sought to content 
themselves with the material and the animal. 
This is the origin of the current philosophies, 
falsely so called, of our time, Comtism, Spen- 
cerism, and the rest, and of all the anarchic 
ideas, social and political, which daily crop up 
everywhere. Against these rationalistic and 
materialistic philosophies and their implica- 
tions, Tennyson, like Carlyle, has made a life- 
long protest, proclaiming that Faith or Wisdom 
is not to be confounded with the temporary in- 
stitutions which claim to embody it, but is to 
be embraced, hoarded, and tended, as man's 
supreme treasure, though all institutions should 
perish. It is the Christ that was and " the 
Christ that is to be," "the Saviour of life unto 
life." 

No one, the poet admits, would think of 
disparaging Knowledge, of railing 
against her beauty, or of setting lim- 
its to her progress in any region where she is 
fitted to go. But, in her revolt against Faith, 
she is like a vain, wanton boy that has just 
escaped from his mother's apron-string. She 
rushes heedlessly on 

" And leaps into the future chance, 
Submitting all things to desire." 

And so, to quote from Mrs. Browning's de- 



Knowledge and Wisdom. 103 

scription of the French, the votaries of Know- 
ledge 

" threaten conflagration to the world, 
And rush with most unscrupulous logic on 
Impossible practice." ^ 

This must not be. Knowledge must learn her 
place, learn that 

" She is the second, not the first." ^ 

She cannot attain any of those truths that give 
value and meaning to life ; hence, unless life 
is to lose its aim, she, who is the child of 
the mind only, must consent to be guided by 
Wisdom, the child of the whole soul Higher 
and truer than any clear conclusion which the 
understanding can draw from the physical 
facts of Nature is the dim, half-formulated 
conclusion which the soul draws in response 
to its total experience physical and spiritual. 
And the poet, addressing his friend, prays : 

" I would the great world grew like thee, 
Who grewest not alone in power 
And knowledge, but by year and hour 
In reverence and in charity." 

1 Aurora Leigh, Bk. VI. 

2 Compare Prologue, vv. 5-8, and the poem, ** Love 
thou thy Land with Love far-brought." (v. 5.) 



CHAPTER XIV. 

(cxv-cxxiv.) 

The return of spriiig reawake?is hope, which soon 
ripens irito faith and confide7ice. 

Amid the new scenes into which the poet 

has moved the spring returns, and 
cxv 

this time enters even into his breast 

with its inspiring promise, making the deep 
regret planted there blossom like an April 
violet. But blossoming regret is not the only- 
flower in the sprinsj-garden of the 

CXVI 

poet's heart. Faith and hope blos- 
som too. The music, stir, and life of spring 

" Cry thro' the sense to hearten trust 
In that which made the world so fair." 

Regret for the " days of happy commune dead " 
is still there ; but it grows weak in proportion 
as faith waxes strong. The past, with all its 
rare, lost delights, fades, as the more glorious, 
spiritual future, with still rarer delights, looms 
up in the soul. In this mood he is 

CXVII 

ready to be grateful for the temporary 
separation from his friend, since it will only 
serve to make reunion more blissful. 



spring and Nature. 105 

" O days and hours, your work is this, 
To hold me from my proper place, 
A little while from his embrace, 
For fuller gain of after bliss." 

Bliss is deepened by contrast with misery. 

Nature, when he last consulted her, in his 
dark mood (Iv., Ivi.), suggested only 
thoughts of despair ; now, in his 
brighter mood, he can draw from her sugges- 
tions of hope. Then he had only regarded 
the dead forms of Nature ; now, he contem- 
plates the whole of her living process, and 
finds that she is no feeble thing, but a " giant 
laboring in his youth." Human love and 
truth are part of that living process, and have 
no resemblance to the " earth and lime " of 
the fossil skeletons of extinct animals. The 
bearers of this love and truth, though they 
have left their dust behind them, and become 
to us invisible, we may trust, 

" Are breathers of an ampler day 
For ever nobler ends." 

The process of Nature is an endless develop- 
ment from lower to higher ; and this process 
accomplishes itself, not only in the race as a 
whole, but in the individual, if he will only 
take it up and realize it in himself : 
" If so he type this work of time 

" Within himself, from more to more." 
But this is no easy task, to be achieved by a 



io6 hi Memoriam, 

man who lies still like "idle ore." It demands 
one who is prepared to be as 

" iron dug from central gloom, 
And heated hot with burning fears, 
And dipt in baths of hissing tears, 
And batter'd with the shocks of doom 

" To shape and use." 

Such a man will " move his course " 

" crown'd with attributes of woe 
Like glories." 

And the poet calls upon men to 
" Arise and fly 
The reeling Faun, the sensual feast ; 
Move upward, working out the beast. 
And let the ape and tiger die." 

Man's salvation depends upon his becoming a 
microcosm, and realizing the whole universe 
and all the process of it within himself; for 
only the universal is eternal. 

" Our wills are ours, we know not how; 
Our wills are ours, to make them thine." i 

In this exalted frame of mind, he can now 
return with delight to the old home 
of his friend. 

1 Prologue, V. 4. Compare Swinburne's lines : 
" Unto each man his handiwork, unto each his crown 
The just Fate gives; 
Whoso takes upon him the world's life, and his own lays down, 
He, dying so, lives." 

Super Flumina Babylonis. 



Conditions of Immortality. 107 

" Not as one who weeps 
I come once more." 

He no longer finds " the long unlovely street " 
(vii.) ; no longer 

" ghastly thro' the drizzlmg rain 
On the bald street breaks the blank day." 

He can now "smell the meadow in the street," 
and feel all the charm of awakening nature j 

" And m my thoughts with scarce a sigh 
I take the pressure of thine hand." 

After much struggle with doubt born of 

sorrow, the poet has at last come 

cxx 
back to entire conviction of the truth 

of immortality. The law of justice revealed 

in his own soul proclaims the annihilation of 

that which has love and faith to be a moral 

absurdity. The materialistic philosophy of 

Locke and his followers, which rules our time 

and claims to be confirmed by science, is a 

cruel error based upon imperfect thinking. 

The spiritual is not a mere function of the 

material, a harmony of nerve-fibres. It is the 

true reality, to which the material is but a 

vision^ As Thomas Aquinas so well puts it, 

" The soul is not in the body as the contained, 

but as the container." ^ If science could prove 

1 Stini. ThcoL, I. q. 52, art. i. Compare Carlyle's in- 
dignant protest : " Can the Earth, which is but dead 
and a vision, resist Spirits, which have reality and are 
alive ?"— ^^r/^r Resartus, Bk. III. chap. viii. 



io8 /;/ Mcmoriam. 

that we are "wholly brain, magnetic mock- 
eries," " cunning casts in clay," then what 
would be the use of science to such transient 
phantoms ? Such a thing may be good for 
apes ; but no man with the aspirations of a 
man would tolerate it. Death, which so fright- 
ens the timid soul, is but as the even- 

CXXI 

ing-star sinking below the horizon, to 
rise again with renewed vigor and freshness, 
as the morning-star, to usher in a new dawn. 
Hesper and Phosphor are the same star in 
different places. One is here reminded of 
Sappho's beautiful line, 

" Hesper, thou bringest all that the glimmering Dawn 
dispersed " ; ^ 

and of Plato's elegiacs, so exquisitely rendered 
by Shelley : 

" Thou wert the morning star among the living, 
Ere thy fair light had fled : — 
Now, having died, thou art as Hesperus, giving 
New splendor to the dead." ''^ 

The poet can now revert with faith to his 
trance (xcv.), which was "cancell'd, 

CXXII 

stricken thro' with doubt." He can 
believe that in that wonderful experience, 
wherein he became conscious of the all-pervad- 

1 picrnepe, navra. 0epei? ocra (/)atVoAi? ecTKeSaa Avuii;. 

Frag. 95 (Bergk). - 

2 'Ao-njp Trpii/ ixev eAa/ixTres evl ^u>OLCrii' 'EoJos, 
viiu Se 6av(ov ActjUTret? 'Ea-rrepos ev <^9ifxei/o.g. 

Epigr. IS (Bergk). 



Faith Restored. IC9 

ing law of the universe, his soul was really 
wrapt round by that of his friend. If so, he 
begs him to come to him now, invading heart 
and head : 

" And enter in at breast and brow," 

so that, in the enthusiasm of a vernal faith, 
" as in the former flash of joy " (xcv. 9), he 
may rise above the phenomenal world of life 
and death, into the world of pure, eternal 
ideas, the souls and sources of all glory and 
all beauty. From that watch-tower of the 
angels he can look calmly upon the 

CXXIII. 

world of change, and defy its cruel 
suggestions. He was wrong in questioning 
Nature at all respecting the spirit's destiny. 
To her spirit means but breath ; 

" But in my spirit will I dwell, 

And dream my dream, and hold it true ; 
For tho' my lips may breathe adieu, 
I cannot think the thing farewell." 

At last he sees that the annihilation of a self- 
conscious spirit is utterly unthinkable. But it 
is not in nature or to the understanding that 
this is revealed ; it is in spirit and to 

CXXIV. 

faith. Nay, it is only there that God 
Himself is to be discovered. 

" I found Him not in world or sun, 
Or eagle's wing, or insect's eye ; 
Nor thro' the questions men may try, 
The petty cobwebs we have spun." 



no /;/ Memoriani. 

Nay, the understanding cannot even tell 
whether God is to be thought as " He, They, 
One," or " All," whether as '' within " or " with- 
out." In other words, it cannot decide be- 
tween Theism, Polytheism, Monotheism, and 
Pantheism,^ or tell us whether God is imma- 
nent or transcendent. It is in the heart that 
God is to be found. When the understanding 
says there is no God, or that God is beyond 
human apprehension, the heart rises up " like 
a man in wrath," — "no, like a child in doubt 
and fear," and answers : " ' I have felt,' " that 
is, I have had experience, which no bugbears 
of nature or subtleties of understanding can 
ever make me disown or discredit. The very 
rebellion of the heart against the head, of 
reason against understanding, is the work of 
the God within or present : 

" that blind clamor made me wise ; 
Then was I as a child that cries, 
But, crying, knows his father near ; 

" And what I am - beheld again 

"What is, and no man understands ; 

1 Goethe, writing to Jacobi in 1813, says: "I, for 
my part, with the manifold tendencies of my nature, do 
not find one aspect of the divine enough. As a poet, I 
am a polytheist ; as an investigator of nature, I am a 
pantheist, and both in the same degree. If I require a 
personal God for my per sociality as a moral being, this 
also is provided for in my 77iental constitution.'''' 

- The earlier editions read ' seem ' for ' am ' here. 



Under standing and Reason. 1 1 1 

And out of darkness came the hands 
That reach thro' nature, moulding men." 

The deep intuition which tells us that things are 
as they are (for example, that the will is free) 
is not to be shaken or undermined by the im- 
potence of the understanding to comprehend 
how or why they are as they are. Under- 
standing in all cases makes an appeal to the 
imagination, and within the jurisdiction of that 
the things of the spirit do not come. 



CHAPTER XV. 

(cxxv-cxxxi.) 

Faith, Hope, and Love all intact. The greatest 
is Love, without which Faith would be weak. 

Hope being now restored, the poet recog- 
nizes that, in all his dark surmisino^s, 

cxxv. 

he has never really lost her : 

" She did but look thro' dimmer eyes ; 
Or Love but play'd with gracious lies,i 
Because he felt so fix'd in truth." 

But whatever he may have said or sung was 
inspired by the spirit of the matchless friend, 
who, he now knows, will be with him until they 
embrace again on "the mystic deeps," on the 
deck of that great ship which steers across the 
ocean of eternity (ciii.). In all that he 

CXXVI 

has done, or yet does, Love has been 
his Lord and King,^ and, under the guardian- 

^ Compare Dante's definition of allegory — "a truth 
hidden under a beautiful lie." [Feast, Tr. II. chap, i.) 

2 Dante speaking of his first meeting with Beatrice, 
says : " From that time on I say that Love was Lord of 
my soul, which was thus early wedded to him, and he 
began to assume such assurance and such lordship over 



TJie Christian Graces intact. 1 1 3 

ship of that king, he can sleep securely through 
the darkness of this flesh-blinded mortal life, 

"And hear at times a sentinel 

Who moves about from place to place, 
And whispers to the worlds of space, 
In the deep night, that all is well. 

" And all is well, tho' faith and form 
Be sunder'd in the night of fear." 

" We walk by faith, and not by form." The 
faith which belono^s to the reason has, 

CXXVII 

in these dark times of ours, been sun- 
dered from the form which belongs to the un- 
derstanding. Our hearts are at war with our 
heads. Our hearts imperiously demand justice 
and ultimate good for all ; our heads are puz- 
zled when we see injustice triumphing and 
thousands of our fellow beings, who have 
fought for justice, perishing in what seems a 
hopeless struggle. But it is only to our con- 
tracted vision that it seems hopeless. If we 
would but open the ears of Faith, we should 
hear " a deeper voice across the storm " of 
convulsion, proclaiming the ultimate triumph 

me, through the power which my imagination gave him, 
that I was obliged to do all his pleasure completely." 
N'eiv Life, chap. i. In many other places of this book 
Dante speaks of Love as his Lord. Compare Purgatoiy, 
xxiv. 52 sqq. 

" I am one who, when 

Love breathes, record, and in whatever mood 

He dictates in my heart, I signify." 



114 In Mc7}ioriani. 

of truth and justice, no matter if three more 
French Revolutions, each bloodier than an- 
other, should have to be passed through first. 
True, the times look threatening for that order 
of things which produced the king and the 
beggar, the extremes of wealth and poverty. 
" The great ^on " of " social lies that warp 
us from the living truth," 

" sinks in blood, 
" And compass'd by the fires of Hell " ; 

but the glorified friend, who looks at the tu- 
mult from the heights of divine vision, smiles, 
'■'' knowing dXS. is well," not merely believing it. 
And so would each of us, if we could reach 
those heights. 

It would be hard to find a better commentary 
upon this passage than the closing words of 
Progress and Poverty : " Though Truth and 
Right seem often overborne, we may not see 
it all. How can we see it all ? . . . Shall we 
say that what passes from our sight passes 
into oblivion ? No ; not into oblivion. Far, 
far beyond our ken the eternal laws must hold 
their sway. 

"The hope that rises in the heart of all 
religions ! The poets have sung it, the seers 
have told it, and in its deepest pulses the 
heart of man throbs responsive to its truth. 
This that Plutarch said is what in all times 



Ultimate Triumph of yustice. 1 1 5 

and in all tongues has been said by the pure- 
hearted and strong-sighted, who, standing, as 
it were, on the mountain-tops of thought and 
looking over the shadowy ocean, have beheld 
the loom of land : 

" ' Men's souls, encompass'd here with bod- 
ies and passions, have no communication with 
God, except what they can reach to in concep- 
tion only, by means of philosophy as a kind 
of obscure dream. But, when they are loosed 
from the body and removed into the unseen, 
invisible, impassible, and pure region, this God 
is then their leader and king ; they there, as it 
were, hanging on Him wholly, and beholding 
without weariness and passionately affecting 
that beauty which cannot be expressed or 
uttered by men.' " 

What, then, is it that reconciles Understand- 
ing: and Faith ? What has enabled 

CXXVIII. 

the poet to see the world of the Un- 
derstanding through the eyes of Faith 1 It is 
Love, Love strong enough to conquer Death, 
and dispel his phantoms. In conquering 
Death, Love has taken away the prestige of 
the Understanding, which proclaims Death as 
the Lord of all things, and has handed over 
the victory to its weaker brother, "the lesser 
faith." ^ And victory in one point is victory 

1 But now abideth faith, hope, love, these three ; and 
the greatest of these is love. — i Corinth, xiii. 13. 



1 1 6 In Memoriam. 

in all. Faith, thus enthroned, is able to see 
one consistent purpose in the universe. The 
epochs of history are not merely so many aim- 
less processions round the same weary race- 
course, so many variations of an old theme 
compounded of strife, delusion, schism, mum- 
mery, revolution, pedantry, and sentimentality.-^ 
If they were, they would deserve only scorn. 
But, says the faith-enlightened poet, 

" I see in part 
That all, as in some piece of art, 
Is toil cooperant to an end." 

This, then, if we may so speak, is the philo- 
sophical theory of I?i Mejnoriam. That higher 
insight which we call faith, and upon which 
we depend for the most vital truths, is feeble 
when dissociated from love. Only through 
love strong enough to burn away the last 
shred of passion and, becoming purely spirit- 
ual, to lay hold upon the eternal in its object 
can the power of the death-threatening under- 
standing be S"ubdued, and man become con- 
vinced that in the universe " all is well " for- 
ever, that his deepest and noblest aspirations 
will find satisfaction in eternity. It is through 
love that man rises to faith, and through faith 
that he rises to God, "from whom is every 

1 One calls to mind here the saying of Herakleitos : 
" The .^on is a child playing at draughts : to a child 
belongs the sovereignty." (Frag., Ixxix. edit. By water.) 



Love, FaitJi, God. 1 1 7 

good and perfect gift." This seems to be the 
last word of all the great philosophical poems 
of the world. It is the last word of that great 
drama, the philosophical system of Plato ; ^ it 
is the last word of Dante's Divine Comedy ;'^ it 
is the last word of Goethe's Faust ;^ yea, it is 
the last word of that great world-epic, the 
Christian religion, as embodied in its true dis- 
ciples.'* It follows that the greatest loss which 
can befall a human being is the loss of love. 

Strong in love-begotten faith, the poet now 
addresses his friend as an omnipres- 

CXXIX 

ent spirit, far off, yet near; known, 
yet unknown ; human, yet divine ; dead, yet 
immortal ; lost, yet eternally his — " Mine, 
mine forever, ever mine." He is now "loved 
deeplier, darklier understood," loved most 
when good is most clearly distinguished from 
evil. Like Dante's Beatrice, he has become a 
spiritual form for the divine itself, the form 
suited to the poet's particular need. 

" Behold, I dream a dream of good, 
And mingle all the world with thee." 

The divine loveliness takes as many forms as 

^ See Lysis, Phaidros, Symposion, etc. 

2 " Ma gi^ volgeva il mio disiro e '1 velle, 

Si come ruota che igualmente e mossa, 

L' Amor che muove il Sole e I'altre stelle." 

3 " Das Ewig-Weibliche 

Zieht uns hinan." 

* He that loveth not knoweth not God ; for God is 
love. — I John iv. 8. 



Il8 Li Memo7'iam. 

there are hearts, and " he that loves not a 
brother whom he hath seen, cannot love God 
whom he hath not seen." 

The lost one, now realized as having as- 
cended from flesh to spirit,^ from 
cxxx . 

space and time to infinity and eter- 
nity, is recognized as a diffusive power in the 
whole of nature, — not understood, but felt 
and loved deeply, darkly. 

" My love involves the love before ; 
My love is vaster passion now ; 
Tho' mix'd with God and Nature thou, 
I seem to love thee more and more." '^ 

The poem closes with a prayer, than which 
there is nothing more nobly religious 
in all literature. It is addressed, not 
to any external God, but to the God within, to 
that " heaven-descended," " living Will," which 
is the essence of human personality, and which 
will endure 

" When all that seems shall suffer shock," ^ 

when the phenomenal world of sense shall be 
rolled up like a scroll. The poet calls upon it 
to rise, like a fountain, in the " spiritual rock," 
to "How thro' our deeds and make them pure," 

1 Dante, Ptn-g., xxx. 127. 

2 Compare Prologue, v. 10. 

" I trust he lives in thee, and there 
I find him worthier to be loved." 

3 Compare the poem entitled Will. 



Love Spiriticalizcd. 119 

so that we may be able to rise above the 
mechanical world of dust, into a moral world 
of spirit, there to enter into conscious rela- 
tions with the Infinite, the source of all life and 
action, and, through a faith born of self-con- 
trol, may trust "the truths that never can be 
proved," until, in boundless love, we embrace, 
and become one with, the Absolute Love. 
Then we shall see 

" internalized, 
By Love into a single volume bound, 
All that is outered in the universe." ^ 

Then all the powers of the spirit will be 
gathered into a 

" Light intellectual, filled full of love, 

Love of true good, filled full of joyfulness, 
A joyfulness transcending all things sweet." '-^ 

1 Dante, Parad., xxxiii. 85 sqq. 

2 Ibid., XXX. 40 sqq. This verse was a favorite with 
Arthur Hallam. See his Remains, p. 145. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

Epilogue. 

The New Life, full of Joy afid assurance. The 
Divine Process. Conclusion. 

The poet's moral world is now completely 
restored. He can act with assurance, as a 
man among men. He is happy. In this 
mood he celebrates the wedding of his sister 
Cecilia to Edmund Law Lushington, in a kind 
of Epithalamium, which forms an appropriate 
Epilogue to the poem. It is a picture of the 
New Life that has triumphed over death and 
doubt. Without it, the work would be incom- 
plete. In the marriage of his sister the poet 
sees revealed that world-process by which Love 
lifts man out of sense and passion into spiritu- 
ality and self-devotion — up to the measure of 
divine manhood, of which his friend was a type 
and an earnest. That friend now lives in God, 
who is life and love — 

" That God, which ever lives and loves, 
One God, one law, one element, 
And one far-off divine event, 
To which the whole creation moves." 



New Life. I2i 

Much might be said of these lines, which ex- 
press the poet's view of what is deepest in the 
universe. By speaking of God as "which," he 
piously refrains from attributing to him person- 
ahty in any form that would mean anything to 
us. No better commentary on this could be 
found than the following passage from Emer- 
son's diary : " I say that I cannot find, when I 
explore my own consciousness, any truth in 
saying that God is a person, but the reverse. 
I feel that there is some profanation in saying 
that he is personal. To represent him as an 
individual is to shut him out of my conscious- 
ness. He is then but a great man, such as 
the crowd worships. The natural motions of 
the soul are so much better than the voluntary 
ones that you will never do yourself justice in 
dispute. The thought is not then taken hold 
of ' by the right handle ' ; does not show itself 
proportioned and in its true bearings. It 
bears extorted, hoarse, and half witness. I 
have been led, yesterday, into a rambling ex- 
culpatory talk on theism. I say that here we 
feel at once that we have no language ; that 
words are only auxiliary and not adequate, are 
suggestions and not copies of our cogitation. 
I deny personality to God because it is too 
little, not too much. Life, personal life, is 
faint and cold to the energy of God. For 
Reason and Love and Beauty, or that which 



122 In Menioriarn. 

is all these, — it is the life of life, the reason 
of reason, the love of love." -^ 

In speaking of God as Life, Law, Element, 
and End, the poet is a faithful disciple of 
Aristotle ; for these are neither more nor less 
than that philosopher's four grounds or causes 
(atrtat), without which nothing could exist at 
all. They are known familiarly as (i) the 
efficient cause, (2) the formal cause, (3) the 
material cause, and (4) the final cause. In 
the phenomenal world they are, or may be, 
sundered : in God they are united. The poet, 
moreover, follows his master in making life 
the fundamental cause. Aristotle says : " The 
energy of Mind ivovi) is life, and He is that 
energy. And self-energy is His best and eter- 
nal life. We say that God is living, eternal, 
best, so that life and an aeon, perpetual and 
eternal, belong to God. For this is God." * 

In this last verse of his poem the poet has 
taken a formal leave of the modern material- 
istic schools of thought dating from Locke, 
which deny the existence of teleology in the 
world, and has definitely ranged himself on 
the side of that spiritual philosophy which, 
since the days of Sokrates, has accompanied 
and inspired the march of civilization, point- 
ing out its goal. He stands with Sokrates, 

1 Cabot's Memoh' of Ralph Waldo E',.ierson, p. 341. 

2 Metaph., xii. 7 ; \0']2b 26 sqq. 



Conclusion. 123 

Plato, Aristotle, Philo, Plotinus, Porphyry, 
Thomas, Bonaventura, Rosmini ; not with 
Locke, Hume, Kant, Fichte, Schelling, Hegel, 
Comte, Spencer. He holds that our life is 
from God to God, not from dirt to dirt, even 
though dirt be called Idea. 

But in one point, and it is a most essen- 
tial one, the poet goes beyond Aristotle, and 
includes in his God, yea, in the life of his 
God, an element which comes from Christian 
thought, and which is the fundamental char- 
acteristic of it — Love. The energy of the 
Christian god is not merely life ; it is also 
and especially love. "God is Love." He is 
a god " which ever lives and /o7'es:' It is 
this addition that has given Christianity all its 
force and enabled it to transform the world : 
this, and this alone. It was, indeed, a won- 
drous new insight which could recognize that 
the very energy of life itself is love, that Love 
governs the world; that that which does not 
love is dead, however it may be galvanized 
into a semblance of life. As the late Professor 
Green puts it : " As the primary Christian idea 
is that of a moral death unto life, as wrought 
for us and in us by God, so its realization, 
which is the evidence of its truth, lies in 
Christian love — a realization never complete, 
because forever embracing new matter, yet 
constantly gaining in fulness." ^ 

1 T^.e Witness of God, Works, vol. iii. pp. 236 sq. 



124 In Memo riant. 

It does not now seem difficult to sum up 
Tennyson's moral, life-shaping world-view : 
God is all in all, Life, Love, Law, Substance, 
End. As Love, He is self-diffusive,^ creating 
the world. Human love is a manifestation 
of the divine love, a portion of that eternal 
energy forever working itself into a unitary, 
yet manifold, blessed self-consciousness, which 
is the 

" one far-off divine event 
To which the whole creation moves." 

If we would be co-workers in this process, and 
share in its completion, we must, in self-sacri- 
ficing love, yield up our wills to the divine 
will. In such self-sacrifice and " self-control " 
Faith will grow till it sees God, whom Love 
will then embrace and absorb. Then the soul 
will feel and say to itself, " I and the Father 
are one." " We must each become first a man, 
then a god."^ Through will we become the 
one ; through love, the other. 

1 St. Bonaventura says finely : " Bomim est diffiisrimm 
sui''^ (Good is self-diffusive). 

^ TlpSiTov ovv 6.v0p()3-Kov 56? yeveadai, Tore Se 6e6v. 
Hierokles, Commentary to T/ie Golden Verses. 



INDEX TO IN MEMORIAM. 



INDEX TO IN MEMORIAM. 



Dde 


Stan. 


Ode Stan. age 






A. 


73- 


3- 


In endless rt:. 






ABIDE (z/^r^) 






AGONY 


58. 


3- 


yl . a little longer here 


"3- 


5- 


With agonies, with en- 


25. 


4- 


A didmg- with me till I 
sail 






ergies 

AIR 






ABUSE 


9- 


3- 


no ruder a. perplex 


II. 


6. 


he bore without a. 


12. 

33- 


4- 
I. 


circle moaning in the a. 
reach'd a purer a. 






ABYSS 


86. 


j_ 


ambrosial a. 


76. 


2. 


secular a. to come 


89. 


2. 


to all the liberal a. 






89. 


4. 


drink the cooler a. 






ACT (noun) 


94- 


3- 


like a cloudless a. 


85- 


10. 


How much of a. at 


lOI. 


2. 


the humming a. 






human hands 


116. 


2. 


the stirring a. 






ACT {z>er5) 


130. 


I. 


the rolling a. 


II. 


3- 


who can always a. 






ALLOWANCE 








51- 


4. 


To make a. for us all 






ACTION 






20. 


3. 


shape His a. like the 






ALTAR-FIRE 






greater ape 


41. 


I. 


the heavenward a. 






ADIEU 






ALTAR-STAIRS 


57- 


4- 


A. a. for evermore 


55- 


4- 


the great world's a. 

ANAKIM. 


27. 


4- 


.«0N 

the great ^. sinks in 
blood 


103. 


8. 


the thews of A. 

ANCHOR 








103. 


S- 


At a. in the flood 






AFFECTION 






8S- 


19. 


My old a. of the tomb 






ANGEL 


85. 


20. 


My old a. of the tomb 


44. 


4- 


My guardian a. 
a. of the night 


94. 


I. 


With what dixinea^ec- 


69. 


4' 






tions bold 






ANGLE 






AFTER-HEAT 


89. 


10. 


rub each other's angles 
down 


81. 


3- 


might have drawn 










from a. 






ANGUISH 






AFTER-MORN 


19. 


4- 


My deeper a. 


03. 


I. 


left my a. content 


56. 


7- 


ANSWER {llOUti) 

What hope of a. 






AFTER-NOON 


85. 


4- 


A faithful a. 


89. 


7. 


in the all-golden a. 


103. 


13. 


An a. from my lips 



126 



hidex. 







ANSWER (z/fri5) 






ASH {0/ decay) 


21. 


3. 


Another atiswers "let 


18. 


I. 


from his ashes 






him be " 


34- 


I. 


dust and ashes 


102. 


4- 


The other answers 






ASSOCIATION 






APE 


lOI. 


5- 


fresh a. blow 


ii8. 


7- 


let the a. and tiger die 






ASSUMPTION 


120. 


3- 


action like the greater a. 

APPEAL 


63. 


^• 


its ass2anptio7is up to 
heaven 


56- 


2. 


makest thine a. to me 






AUTUMN 


92. 


1. 


spake and made a. 

APPLAUSE 


85. 


18 


.<4. with a noise of 
rooks 


51- 


2. 


he for whose a. I strove 

APRIL 


99- 


3 


A. laying here and 
there 

AVE 


22. 


2. 


From A.oxxXo A. went 


57- 


4- 


A. A. A. said 


40. 


2. 


Make A . of her tender 




116. 




eyes 
in sweet A. wakes 

ARC 


122. 


2. 


AWE 

in placid a. 


105. 


7- 


your measured arcs 

ARCADY 






B. 

BABE 


23- 


6. 


many a flute of A. 

ARK 


40. 


7- 


And bring her <5. 

BABY 


12. 


2. 


leave this mortal a. 

ARM 


45- 


I. 


The b. new to earth 

BACK 


13- 


I. 


moves his doubtful arms 


25. 


I. 


burden for the b. 


21. 


S- 


reaches forth her arms 








95- 


4- 


Laid their dark arms 






BALL 


95- 


13- 


Laid their dark ar^ns 


III. 


I. 


grasps a golden ^. 


102. 


6. 


mix in one another's 
arvis 






BALLAD 






ARROW 


89. 


7- 


and flung A b. 


87. 


7- 


aim an a. fair 






BAND 


101. 


4- 


into silver arrmvs 
break 


93- 


I. 


ever break the b. 

BANK 






ART 


103. 


6. 


bluff that made the 


37- 


4- 


owning but a little a. 






baulks 


49. 




From a. from nature 


107. 


I. 


purple-frosty b. 


87. 


6! 


on mind and a. 








110. 


4- 


the Christian «. 






BANQUET 


128. 


6. 


in some piece of a. 


89. 


S. 


With b. in the distant 
woods 






ARTHUR 


107. 


2. 


To deck the b. 


9- 


I. 


my lost A rth^tr's loved 






BAR 






remains 






9. 


5- 


My A. whom I shall 


64. 


2. 


his birth's invidious b. 






not see 


87. 


10. 


The b. of Michael An- 


89. 


2. 


My A. found your 






gelo 






shadows fair 


lOI. 


3- 


many a sandy b. 






ASH {tree) 






BARENESS 


100. 


3- 


knoll of a. and haw 


128. 


5- 


make old b. picturesque 



Index. 



127 



17- 
Pro. 



27. 
118. 



34- 
114. 



BARK 

1. within a helmless b. 

3. like the unhappy d. 

4. spare thee, sacred b. 

BARRICADE 

2. pile her barricades 

BARRIER 

4. to burst All barriers 

BASE 

4. The bases of my life 

BASENESS 

1. Is there no b. 

2. b. of her lot 

BASTION 

5. A looming b. 

BAT 

3. bats went round 

BATH 

6. bat/ts of hissing tears 

BB (verb) 
3. He is not here 
3. For all is dark 

I a7n so much more 
perchance art more 
wheresoever those may 
be 

BEACH 

breaking on the b. 

BEACON 

like a b. guards thee 
home 

BEAM 

A b. in darkness 
BEAR (verb) 

bore thee where I could 
not see 

BEARING 

the b. of a word 

BEAST 

I envy not the b. 
working out the b. 

BEAT (verb) 
makes me b. so low 

BEAUTY 

Fantastic b. 

rail Against her b. 



BECKON {verb) 
14. 2. beckoning- unto those 

BECOME (verb) 
40. 4. Becoming as is meet 



67. I. 
67. 3. 



84. 12. 

7. 2. 
124. 6. 

85. II. 
Ep. 31, 

Pro. I 



28. 

28. 

28. 

57- 
104. 
104. 
106. 
106. 
Ep. 



86. 4- 
98. I. 



When on my b. 
From off my b. 



will gather 



BEECH 

that b. 
brown 

BEGINNING 

beginjiirigs of content 
BEHOLD (verb) 
B. me, for I cannot 

sleep 
what I am beheld 

BEING 

His b. working 
strike his b. into 
bounds 

BELIEVE 

Believing where we 
cannot prove 

BELL 

rings the gateway b. 
I hear the b. 
The Christmas bells 
heard those bells again 
bells of Yule 
One set slow b. 
single peal of bells 
the bells I know 
Ring out, wild bells 
Ring, happy bells 
trembles to the bells 

BELT 

From b. to b. 
summer belts of wheat 

BIER 

with b. and pall 

BIRD 

birds the charming ser- 
pent draws 
Wild b. whose warble 
sea-blue b. of March 
voices of the birds 
love-language of the b. 
happy birds 
chirp of birds 
the wakeful b. 



128 



Index. 







BIRTH 






BLOW 


64. 


2. 


his birih^s invidious 


64. 


2. 


blows of circumstance 






bar 


85- 
95. 


14. 
II. 


broke the (5. 
blows of death 






BITTERNESS 








84. 


12. 


The old ^. again 






BLUE 






BLAST 


52. 


3- 


the Syrian b. 


72. 


I. 


blasts that blow the 
poplar 


JI5- 


2. 


yonder living b. 

BLUFF 


107. 


2. 


The b. of North and 

East 


103. 


6. 


shadowing b. 

BOARD 






BLESSEDNESS 


95- 


2. 


on the b. the fluttering 


32. 


4- 


is there b. like theirs ? 






urn 






BLESSING 


107. 


4- 


Arrange the b. 


17. 


3. 


My b., like a line of 






BOAST 






light 


40. 


7- 


make her b. 


36. 


I. 


We yield all b. 






BOAT 


40. 


2. 


crown 'd with b. 


121. 


2. 


The (5. is drawn 






BLINDNESS 


121. 


4- 


The market b. 


93- 


4- 


this b. of the frame 






BODY 






BLISS 


12. 


S- 


where the b. sits 


84. 
85. 


2. 

23- 


diffusing b. 
in conclusive b. 


35- 
43- 


2. 


the b. bows 
Bare of the b. 


89. 


6. 


Oh b. , when all in cir- 






BOLDNESS 






cle 


in- 


4- 


licensed b. gather force 


91. 


3- 


unconjectured b. 








K; 


2. 


gain of after b. 
so much of b. 


105. 


3- 


BOND 

the b. of dying use 






116. 


4- 


Than some strong b. 






BLOOD 








2. 
50. 


4- 
I. 


fail from out my b. 
the b. creeps 


4- 


I. 


BONDSMAN 

My will is b. 


59- 


2. 


wilt thou rule my b. 






BONE 


84. 


3- 


Thy b. my friend 


2. 


I, 


wrapt about the bones 


85. 


5- 


My b. an even tenor 


18. 


2. 


the quiet bodies 






kept 


39. 


1. 


these buried bones 


109. 
III. 


3- 
I. 


years of April b. 
Bv b. a king 






book: 


122. 


3- 
3- 


Till all my 3. 
Re-made the b. 


77- 


2. 


May bind a b. 


Ep. 


79- 


4- 


One lesson from one b. 




89. 


9- 


Discussed the books 






BLOOM 


107 


6. 


With books and music 


72. 


2. 


every living b. 






BOOTH 


109. 


3- 


in snowy b. 
BLOOM {verb) 


98. 


7- 


in b. and tent 

BOSOM 


8. 


6. 


it there may b. 


17- 


4. 


the b. of the stars 


82. 


3. 


Will b. to profit 
















BOSOM-FRIEND 






BLOSSOM 


59. 


1. 


b. and half of life 


101. 


I. 


tender b. flutter down 






BOUGH 






BLOSSOM {verb) 


29. 


3- 


while the holly boughs 


115. 


5- 


blossoms like the rest 


69. 


2. 


with thorny boitghs 



Index. 



29 





BOUGH {continued) 




BREAST {contitmed) 


72. 


6. 


with flying boughs 


95- 


3- 


woolly breasts 


lOI. 


I. 


the garden b. 


"5- 


5- 


in my b. Spring wakens 






BOUND 


122. 


3- 


enter in at b. 


87. 


9- 


in the bounds of law 






BREATH 






BOW 


3- 


'• 


sweet and bitter in 
a 3. 


122. 


S- 


paints a <5. 


20. 


4- 


to draw the b. 






BOWER 


68. 


I. 


times my b. 


8. 


2. 


from b. and hall 


86. 


3- 


feeds thy b. 


II. 


3- 
4. 


autumn bowers 


95- 


16. 


without a b. 


76. 
102. 


their branchy bozuers 


98. 


2. 


breathed his latest b. 


4- 


among the bowers 


99- 


4- 


thy balmy b. 


Ep. 


7. 


on its bridal ^. 


120. 


I. 


have not wasted b. 








122. 


4- 


with a livelier b. 






BOWL 








105. 


S- 


b. of wassail 

BOX 


118. 


2. 


BREATHER 

breathers of an ampler 
day 


77- 


2. 


may line a b. 






BREEZE 






BOY 


17- 


I. 


b. Compell'd thy can- 


28. 


S- 


controll'd me when a b. 






vas 


S3- 


I. 


among his boys 


68. 


2. 


the bugle breezes blew 


62. 


2. 


little more than b. 


75- 


3- 


the b. of song 


84. 


3- 


boys of thine 


95- 


14. 


b. began to tremble 


87. 


5- 


boys That crash'd the 


122. 


5- 


the b. of Fancy 






glass 


Ep. 


16. 


Every wandering b. 


122. 


4- 


inconsiderate b. 






BRIDAL 






BOYHOOD 


98. 


4- 


The birth, the b. 


102. 


3- 


here thy b. sung 

BRAKE 


99- 


4- 


Memories of b. 

BRIDE 


86. 


I. 


over b. and bloom 


59- 


2. 


lovely like a b. 


107. 


3- 


brakes and thorns 


90. 


4- 


their brides in other 


5- 


2. 


BRAIN 

unquiet heart and b. 
what possess'd my b. 


Ep. 


II. 

18. 


hands 
give away the b. 
behold the b. 


14. 


4- 








80. 


3- 


picture in the b. 






BRIDGE. 


92. 


I. 


canker of the b. 


87. 


3- 


paced the shores And 


120. 


I. 


not wholly b. 






many a b. 


121. 


2. 


darkened in the b. 






BRINE 






BRANCH 


10. 


5- 


fathom-deep in b. 


'5- 


4- 


barren branches loud 


107. 


4- 


on the rolling b. 


84. 


2. 


branches of thy blood 






BRING {verb) 






BREADTH 


10. 


3- 


So b. him 


89. 


I. 


thy b. and height 

BREAKER 


32. 


I. 


he that brought him 
back 


71- 


4- 


The b. breaking 


56. 


3- 


often brings but one 

BRINK 


II. 


5- 


BREAST 

that noble b. _ 


121. 


4- 


hail it from the b. 


IS- 


5- 


drags a laboring b. 






BROOD 


85. 


4- 


answer from the b. 


21. 


7. 


her b. is stol'n away 


85- 


29. 


another living b. 


89. 


5- 


the b. of cares 



130 



Index. 







BROOK 1 






CAGE 


8s. 


18. 


swells the narrow 
brooks ' 


27- 


I. 


born within the c. 

CALM 


95- 


2. 


b. alone far off ! 
yon swoirn b. 
The b. shall babble 


II. 


2. 


C. and deep peace 


99- 

lOI. 


2. 
3- 


w. 


3- 

4- 


C. and still light 
C. and deep peace 






BROTHER 1 


II. 


5- 


C. on the seas 


9- 
9- 


4. 


the b. of my love 


95- 


2. 


c. that let the tapers 


5- 


More than my bro- 
tJiers 


Ep. 


4- 


burn 
colossal c. 


31. 


2. 


Where wert thou b. 1 






CANKER 


32. 

ss. 


2. 

3- 


living brotJiers face 
grieve Thy brethren 


92. 


I. 


c. of the brain 


79- 


I. 


More than my brotJiers 






CANVAS 


«6. 


3- 


111 brethren 

BROTHER-HANDS 


17- 


'• 


Compeird thy c. 

CAPABILITY 


85. 


26. 


I clasping b. 

BROW 


85. 


3- 


My capabilities of love 

CAPE 


37- 


I. 


with darken'd b. 


95- 


3- 


ermine capes 


69. 


2. 


to bind my brows 








72. 


6. 


thy burthen'd bro^vs 






CAPTIVE 


74- 


2. 


thy brows are cold 


27- 


I. 


c. void of noble rage 


79- 


4- 


on kindred brows 






CARE 


86. 
91. 


2. 
2. 


fan my brows 
lucid round thy b. 


8. 
12. 


4- 
4- 


foster'd up with c. 
end of all my c. 






BRUTE 


38. 


3- 


c. for what is here 


Ep. 


34- 


half-akin to b. 


48. 


2. 


Her c. is not to part 
the coming c. 


j_.p. 




99. 


3- 






BUD 


105. 


4- 


cares that petty shad- 


83- 


4- 


burst a frozen b. 
BUD {verb) 






ows cast 

CARRIER-BIRD 


115. 


5- 


buds and blossoms 

BULK 


25. 


2. 


light as carrier-birds 

CASE 


70. 


3- 


bttlks that tumble 

BURDEN 


35- 


5- 


to put An idle c. 

CAST 


25- 


I. 


daily b. for the back 

BURTHEN 


120. 


2. 


cunning casts in clay 

CATARACT 


13- 


5- 


the b. that they bring 


71- 


4- 


c. flashing from the 
bridge 


80. 


3- 


the b. of the weeks 






80. 


3. 


turns his b. into gain 






CATTLE 






BUSH 


IS- 


2. 


c. huddled on the lea 


91. 


I. 


underneath the barren b. 






CAUSE 






BUZZING 


29. 


T. 


compelling c. to grieve 


89. 


13- 


buzzi7igs of the honied 
hours 


106. 


4- 


slowly dying c. 

CELL 








50- 


3. 


weave their petty cells 






C. 


95- 


8. 


her inmost c. 






CABIN-WINDOW 






CELT 


10. 


I 


the c. bright 


109. 


4- 


blind hysterics of the C. 



Index. 



131 



64. 
103. 

6. 



CENTRE 

c. of a world's desire 
In the c. stood 

CHAFF 

c. well meant for grain 



8. 


3- 


23- 


5- 


92. 


2. 


114. 


2. 


28. 


3- 


41. 


2. 


81. 


I. 


82. 


I. 


85. 


19. 


89. 


9- 


90. 


6. 


91. 


3- 


93. 


3- 


95- 


7- 



CHAIR 

20 5. To see the vacant c. 
21. 4. The chairs and throne 
66. 4. beats his c. 

CHALICE 

10. 4. c. of the grapes 

CHAMBER 

8 2. chambers emptied of 
delight 
the c. and the street 
chambers of the blood 

CHANCE 

made appeal To chances 
the future c. 

CHANGE 

changes on the wind 
bound Thy changes 
mellower c. 
For changes wrought 
c. of light or gloom 
changes of the state 
Whatever c. the years 
hourly-mellowing c. 
tenfold-complicated c. 
defying c. To test his 

worth 
for c. of place 
what changes thou hast 

seen 

CHANGE {verb) 
23. 3. changed from where it 

ran 
30. 6. Nor change to us 

CHARACTER {verb) 
6i. 2. How dimly character'' d 

CHARLATAN 

III. 6. Defamed by every c. 



123. 



69. 
90. 



109. 
114. 



124. 
124. 



35- I- 

57- 2- 

84. 5- 

107. 6. 



CHEEK 

The cheeks drop in 
your cheeks are pale 
clap their cheeks 

CHEER 

With festal c. 



34- 

88. 



78. 



CHEQUER-WORK 

4. c. of beam and shade 

CHESTNUT 

1. c. pattering to the 

ground 

CHILD 

7. Poor c. that waitest 

3. takes the childrett on 

his knee 

4. They call'd me c. 

2. find in c. and wife 

5. the stranger's c. 

5. the c. would twine 

3. Half-grown, a c. 

5. like the younger c. 
5. like a c. in doubt 
5. as a c. that cries 

CHILDHOOD 

4. childhood's flaxen ring- 

let 

CHIMNEY 

8. her father's c. glows 

CHIRP 

2. hear a c. of birds 
CHOOSE {verb) 

3. worth my while to c. 

CHORD 

flash along the chords 

CHRIST 

the birth of Christ 
raised up by Christ 
the birth of Christ 
Christ that is to be 

CHRISTMAS 

at C. did we weave 

CHRISTMAS-EVE 

keep our C. 
sadly fell our C. 
calmly fell our C. 
strangely falls our C. 

CHRYSALIS 

ruin'd c. 

CHURCH 
the dark c. 
single c. below the nill 

CHURL 

c. in spirit 
c. in spirit 



132 



Index, 







CIRCLE 






CLOUD 


17- 


2. 


circles of the bounding 
sky 


4- 


4- 


clouds of nameless 
trouble 


30. 


3- 


in a ^. hand in hand 


15- 


4- 


pore on yonder c. 


45- 




c. of the breast 


30. 


I. 


A rainy c. 


61. 


i' 


c. of the wise 


72. 


6. 


clouds that drench 


85. 


t. 


In c. round the blessed 


85- 


22. 


clouds of nature 






gate 
all in c. drawn 


103. 


14- 


a crimson ^. 


89. 


6. 


106. 




The flying c. 


lOI. 


6. 


c. of the hills 
CIRCLE {verb') 
it circles round 


123. 


2. 


Like t-/^7/r<;fj they shape 
themselves 


Ep. 


21. 


Ep. 


27- 


the streaming c. 












CLOUDLET 


63. 


3- 


CIRCUIT 

circuits of thine orbit 

CIRCUMSTANCE 


Ep. 


24. 


little cloudlets on the 
grass 

CLOUD-TOWERS 


64. 


2. 


blows of c. 

CITY 


70. 


2. 


C. by ghostly masons 
wrought 


98. 


2. 


That C. 






CLOWN 


119. 


'■ 


the c. sleeps 

CLAIM 


III. 


I. 


at heart a c. 

COBWEB 


102. 


5- 


prefers his separate c. 

CLAMOR 


124. 


2. 


The petty cobwebs 


124. 


s- 


that blind c. 

CLASH 


36. 


X. 


COIN 

made them current c. 


Ep. 


16. 


c. and clang 






COLD 








5- 


3- 


clothes against the c. 


84. 


2. 


CLASP 

c. and kiss 


61. 


2. 


growth of c. and night 

COLDNESS 


58. 


2. 


CLAY 

their dying c. 


106. 


5- 


faithless c. of the times 


93- 


I. 


claspt in c. 






COLOR 


85. 


22. 


CLEARNESS 

starry c. of the free 


6. 

43 
116. 


9- 
2. 
I. 


her c. burns 
c. of the flower 
colors of the crescent 


109. 


'■ 


critic c. of an eye 

CLIFF 






prime 
COME {verb) 


12. 

56. 


2. 


leave the cliffs 
From scarped c. 
CLIMB (verb) 


17 
iS 


2. 
3- 


C. quick 

c. whatever loves to 
wee]") 


51- 


4. 


when we c. or fall 


57 


I. 


Peace, c. away 






CLIME 


90 


4- 


if they cajne who past 
away 


85. 


7- 


the blissful clitnes 


90 


6. 


but c. thou back to me 


118. 


4- 


branch'd from c. to c. 

CLOCK 


95 


10. 


ca77te on that which is 

COMFORT 


2. 


2. 


the c. Beats out 


37 


6. 


c. clasp'd in truth 






CLOTHES 


109 


5- 


his c. in thy face 


S- 


3- 


coarsest c. against the 
cold 


Ep 


33- 


COMMAND 

under whose c. is earth 



Index. 



133 







COMMERCE 






COUNTENANCE 


85. 


24 


c. with the dead 

COMMON-PLACE 


114. 


2 


her forward c. 

COURSE 


6. 


I. 


common is the c. 


109. 


2 


in its fiery c. 






COMMUNION 


113- 


4 


roll it in another c. 


94. 


I. 


c. with the dead 


;;?: 


3 
S 


courses of the suns 
move his c. 






COMPANIONSHIP 


128. 




the c. of human things 


22, 


4- 


broke our fair c. 






COURT 






COMPLAINT 


89. 


3 


from brawling cottrts 


81. 


2. 


end is here to my c. 

COMRADE 


126. 


2 


within his c. on earth 

COURIER 


'3- 


3- 


c. of my choice 


126. 


I- 


his couriers bring 


128. 




c. of the lesser faith 






COURTSHIP 






CONCLUSION 


Ep. 


25. 


how their c. grew 


87. 


9- 


To those coiiclusio'ns 






COVE 






CONFESS {verb) 


79- 


3. 


all his eddying coves 


59- 


I. 


As I c. it needs must be 






COWARD 








95- 


8. 


doubts that drive the c. 






CONFUSION 






back 


Pro. 


II 


Confnsio7ts of a wasted 
youth 






CRAG 


90. 


5- 


C. worse than death 

CONSCIENCE 


127. 


3- 


the sustaining crags 

CREATION 


27. 


2. 


a c. never wakes 


56. 


4- 


Creation's final law 


34- 


2. 


Without a c. or an aim 


Ep. 


36. 


the whole c. moves 


94. 


3. 


The c. as a sea at rest 






CREATURE 






CONTEMPLATE 


Pro. 


10 


Thy c. whom I found 


84. 


I. 


When I c. all alone 

CONTENT 


59- 


3- 


the c. of my love 

CREDIT 


84. 


12. 


low beginnings of c. 

CONTINENT 


71- 
80. 


2. 
4- 


such c. with the soul 
His^. thus shall set me 
free 


35- 


3- 


dust of co7ttinentsio be 






CREED 






CONTRADICTION 


36. 


3- 


the c. of creeds 


125. 


I. 


c. on the tongue 


56. 


4- 


shriek'd against his c. 






CONTROL 


96. 


3- 


in half the creeds 


85. 


9- 


equal-poised c. 

CONVERSE 


128. 


4- 


To cleave a c. 

CREEK 


20. 


5- 


open c. is there none 


lOI. 


4- 


in c. and cove 


no. 




Thy c. drew us 






CRESCENT 






COKE 


84. 
107. 


3. 


thyc. would have grown 
yon hard c. 


107. 


5- 


solid c. of heat 






CRICKET 






COUNSELLOR 


95. 


2. 


not a c. chirr'd 


64. 


6. 


play'd at counsellors 






CRIME 

sense of c. 






COUNT (verb) 


27. 


2. 


^''■ 


3- 


c. itself as blest 


72. 


5- 


some hideous c. 


Ep. 


22. 


Nor c. me all to blame 


85. 


16. 


I count it c. 



134 



Index. 







CROWD 






DARK 


70. 


3. 


crmvds that stream 


67. 


2. 


bright in d. 
ambrosial d. 


98. 


7. 


lives in any c. 


89. 


4- 


128. 


4- 


To fool the c. 

CROWN 


Ep. 


24. 


the^. From little cloud- 
lets 


69. 


2. 


like a civic c. 






DARKNESS 


69. 


3- 


a c. of thorns 


I. 


3- 


Let d. keep her raven 


69. 


4- 


He look-d upon my c. 






gloss 


127. 


3. 


him that wears a c. 


55- 


4- 


That slope thro' d. 








61. 


2. 


blanch'd with d. 






CRY 


74. 


3. 


d. beautiful with thee 


Pro. 


II. 


wandering cries 


76. 


3- 


The d. of our planet 


75- 


3- 


To raise a c. 


96. 


5. 


Which makes the d. 


102. 


I. 


our earliest c. 


96. 
98. 
106. 


6. 


in the d. and the cloud 


113- 


5- 


cries And undulations 


4. 


A treble d. 


131- 


2. 


A c. above the con- 


8. 


Ring out the d. 






quered years 


124. 


6. 


out of d. came 






CRYPT 






DART {verb) 


58. 


2. 


those cold crypts 

CUP 


12. 


5- 


forward d. again 

DAUGHTER 


Ep. 


26. 


The crowning c. 

CURL 


Ep. 


2. 


A d. of our house 

DAWN 


66. 


3- 


winds their curls 


46. 


2. 


In that deep d. 






CURSE 


72- 


I. 


dim d. 


6. 


10. 


the c. Had fallen 

CURVE 


95- 
99. 


16. 
I. 


said " The d. the rtT." 
dim d. 


100. 


4- 


thro' meadowy curves 


Pro. 


5- 


DAY 

They have their d. 






CYCLE 


7. 


3- 


breaks the blank d. 


105. 


7- 


The closing c. 


15- 




yonder dropping d. 






CYPRESS 


17- 


2. 


the days go by 


84. 


4 


Made c. of her orange- 
flower 


19. 
24. 


2. 
I. 


twice a d. 

the d. of my delight 






24. 


I. 


source and fount of D. 






D. 


25- 


I. 


the d. prepared 






29. 


4- 


a d. gone by 






DAISY 


7fl- 


8. 


the cheerful d. 


72- 


3 


the d. close Her crim- 


31- 


2. 


those four rt'rt-j'j 




son fringes 


33- 


2. 


melodious days 






44- 


I. 


forgets the days 






DANCE 


44. 


2. 


The days have vanish'd 


29. 


2 


In d. and song 


46. 


3- 


Days order'd 


78. 


3 


And d. and song 


58. 


2. 


beat from d. to d. 


98. 


8 


the circled d. 


60. 


3- 


her narrow ^aj/.y 


T05. 


6 


No d. , no motion 


60. 


4- 


till the d. draws by 


Ep. 


27 


And last the d. 


66. 


4- 


inner d. can never die 






DANUBE 


71- 


3- 


The days that grow 


19. 
98. 


I 
3 


The D. to the Severn 
Let her great D. 


72. 

1^' 


5- 
7- 


D. mark'd as with some 

hideous crime 
disastrous d. 






DARE (verd) 


75- 


3- 


these fading days 


4- 


2 


darest to enquire 


83. 


2. 


live with April days 


85- 


10 


we d. to live or die 


84. 


3- 


the d. was drawing on 


124. 


I 


which we d. invoke 


84. 


7- 


the happy days 



Index. 



135 



DAY {continued) 



DEATH {contimied) 



85- 


II. 


my days decline 


114. 


3- 


the fear of d. 


89. 


8. 


livelong summer d. 


120. 




I fought with D. 


90. 


4- 


yield them for a d. 
in the days behind 
their golden d. 
into boundless d. 


128. 


I. 


when he met with D. 


92. 
94. 

95- 


2. 
2. 

16. 


87. 


6. 


DEBATE 

Where once we held d. 


97- 


4- 


The days she never can 






DECEMBER 


99. 


J 


forget 
D. when I lost 


97- 


3- 


meetings made D. June 


100. 


5- 


reflects a kindlier d. 






DECK 


102. 


5- 


striven half the d. 


9- 


3- 


the dewy decks 


104. 


3- 


breathes of other days 


103. 


II. 


there on d. 


107. 
107. 
107. 


I. 
I. 

6. 


d. when he was born 
d. that early sank 
We keep the d. 


62. 


2. 


DECLINE {verb) 
that once declined 


116 


4- 


days of happy commune 






DEED 


117. 


I. 


days and hours 


36. 


3. 


perfect deeds 


119 


2. 


tliink of early days 


55- 


3- 


meaning in her deeds 


Ep. 


I. 


thy marriage d. 


73. 


3. 


human deeds 


Ep. 


2. 


Since that dark d. 


85. 


2. 


tried in d. 






DEAD {adj.) 


96. 


3- 


pure in deeds 


2 


I. 


the underlying d. 


131- 




Flow thro' our deeds 


44 


I. 


the happy V. 






DEEP 


5' 


1. 


desire the d. 


II. 


5. 


the heaving d. 
a deeper d. 


5' 


3- 


The d. shall look 


63- 


4- 


85 


24. 


the d. would say 


103. 


10. 


to draw From ^. to d. 


90 


2. 


d. whose dving eyes 


103. 


14. 


slept along the d. 


99 


2. 


holy to theV. 


123- 




There rolls the rf. 


118 


2. 


those we call the d. 


124. 


3- 


the Godless d. 






DEAREST 


125. 


4. 


the mystic deeps 


no 


4- 


I, thy d., sat apart 






DEFECT 






DEARNESS 


54. 


I. 


Defects of doubt 


64 


■ 5- 


distant d. in the hill 






DELIGHT 






DEATH 


29. 


2. 


shower'd largess of ^. 


Pre 


). 2. 


Thou madest D. 


42. 


3- 


what delights can equal 




• 3- 


To dance with d. 


117. 


2. 


Z). a hundredfold 


20 


• 4- 


that atmosphere of D. 






DEMAND {verb) 


35 


• 5- 


If D. were seen 


31- 


i_ 


Was this dernatided 


44 


■ 3- 


If D. so taste 








45 


• 4- 


second birth of D. 






DEMON 


51 


• 3- 


wisdom with great D. 


114. 


4- 


the brain Of Demons 


t 

7A 


2. 

I. 

• 3- 


I bring to d. 
Death's twin brother 
D. has made His dark- 
ness 


85. 


28. 


DEPLORE {verb) 

that cannot but d. 
DESCEND {verb) 


8c 


I. 


holy D. ere Arthur died 


93. 


4- 


D. and touch 


8 
82 
82 


• 3- 

• 3- 


D. returns an answer 
feud with D. 
Nor blame I D. 


66. 


2 


DESERT 

makes a d. in the mind 


82 


• 4- 


on D. I wreak 






DESIRE 


9 


,. II 


The blows of D. 


4- 


2 


fail from thy d. 


10 


5- 9 


the d. of war 


64 


4 


a world's d. 


TO 


i. 2 


the wells of D. 


80 


I 


any vague d. 


10 


?. 3 


the depths of d. 


84 


5 


their least d. 



136 



Index, 



DESIRE {continued) 



DOOR {continued) 



no. 


5- 


the vague d. 


36 


2. 


lowly rf(7^r5 


114. 




all things to ^. 


69 


I. 


trifles at the d. 


117. 


2. 


D. fif nearness 


70 


3- 


yawning doors 


129. 


I. 


my lost d. 


87 


5- 


name was on the d. 






DESPAIR 

a calm (f. 
Can calm d. 
D. of Hope 


103 
119 


I. 
I. 


From out the doors 
Doors where my he^rt 


II. 


4- 


121 


2. 


listenest to the closingaf. 


16. 

84. 


I. 

4- 


Ep 


30. 


bridal doors 

DOORWAY 






DEW 


44 


1. 


doorways of his head 


II. 


2. 


dews that drench 








68. 


2. 


fresh with d. 






DOUBT 


S3. 


3- 


dash'd with fiery d. 


41 


5- 


spectral doubt 


89. 


5- 


in morning; d. 


44 


• 4- 


resolve the d. 


Ep. 


25. 


at fall of d. 


48 


I. 


doubts and answers 








48 


2. 


slender shade of d. 






DEW-DROP 


54- I- 


defects of d. 


122. 


5- 


every d. paints a bow 


68 


• 3- 


my dream resolve the^. 


8. 


6. 


DIE (verb) 
Or dyifig, there at least 

may fl^. 
to ^. with him 


86 
94 

95 


• 3- 

• 4- 
. 8. 


till D. and Death 
d. beside the portal 
doubts that drive 


121. 


I, 


95 
96 


. II. 


stricken through with d. 
d. is Devil-born 






DIFFERENCE 


96 


• 3- 


more faith in honest d. 


40. 


6. 


the d. I discern 


96 


• 4- 


He fought his doubts 








log 


. 2. 


doubts of man 






DIN 


124 


. I. 


our ghastliest d. 


89. 


2. 


d. and steam of town 






DOUBT {verb) 


94. 


4- 


the heart is full of d. 












113 


. 2. 


can I d. 






DISEASE 


1 13 


. 2. 


I d. not 


106. 


7- 


shapes of foul d. 






DOVE 






DISK 


6 


• 7- 


meek unconscious d. 


lOI. 


2. 


her d. of seed 


12 


I. 


Lo, as a d. 








103 


4. 


then flew in a d. 






DISPUTE 








84. 


6. 


Of deep d. 




DOWN {of feathers) 






DISTANCE 


bl 


I 


in the d. I sink my head 


38. 


I. 


purple from the d. dies 






DOWN {of country) 


93- 


3- 


d. of the abyss 


Ei: 


• 27. 


on the downs 


11=;. 


2. 


d. takes a lovelier hue 


Ep 


. 28. 


from yonder d. 


117. 


2. 


out of d. 






DRAGON 






DISTRESS 


56. 6 


. Dragons of the prime 


78. 


4- 


token of d. 






DRAUGHT 






DOCTRINE 


6. 3 


ere half thy d. 


53- 


3- 


held the d. sound 






DRAW (ly^'ri^) 






DOOM 


g. 2 


So d. him home 


72. 
118. 


2. 
6. 


that reverse of d. 
shocks of d. 






DREAM 


122. 




against my d. 


ID. 3 

13. 4 


we have idle dreams 
suffer in a (f. 






DOOR 


4 


7. 3 


What vaster rt'. 


7- 


I. 


Doors where my heart 


54- 5 


So "uns my d. 


28. 


2. 


as if a d. Were shut 


5 


5- 2 


such evil dreams 



Index. 



137 



56. 
64. 

68. 

89. 
123. 
129. 

68. 



107. 
107. 



83. 



29. 
37- 
45- 



67. 
95- 
95- 

Pro. 
17- 
21. 
34- 
35- 
35- 
55. 
56. 
71- 
75- 
80. 



DREAM (contintied) 

6. a ^., A discord 

5. as in a pensive d. 

3. my d. resolve the doubt 

9. some Socratic d. 

3. dream my d. 

3. a d. of good 



DREAM {verb) 
I. d. of thee as dead 

3. rather d. that there 

DRIFT 

4. in the drifts that pass 
DRINK {verb) 

6. we Will d. to him 

DROP 

4. balmy drops 

1. fl?. by ^. the water falls 

DROPPING-WELLS 

3. Laburnums, d. of fire 

DUE 

4. their yearly d. 

4. human love his dues 

4. fruitless of their d. 

DUSK 

2. in the d. of thee 

3. d. is dipt in gray 
3. That haunt the d. 

13. the doubtful d. 

DUST 

3. wilt not leave us in the <f. 

5. The d. of him 

6. the sacred d. 
I. d. and ashes 

I. nor is there hope in d. 

3. d. of continents 

5. gather d. and chaff 

5. the desert d. 

3. the d. of change 

3. a little af. of praise 

1. dropt the d. 

2. The d. and din 

E. 

EAGr.E 

2. eagle'' s wing 

EAR 

turn mine ^^rj 
ungrateful to thine e. 
Yet in these ears 
mature in e. 
Till on mine e. 



87. 
Ep. 



18. 
24. 

34- 

78. 
82. 
84. 
8S- 
99. 

113- 
iiS. 
123. 
127. 
Ep. 



EAR {continued) 
. A willing e. 

Breathed in her e. 

EARNEST 

e. that he loves her 

EARTH 

in English e. is laid 
e. had been the Para- 
dise 
Else e. is darkness 
snow possess'd the e. 
earth's embrace 
and e. of thee 
a darken'd e. 
on the genial e. 
lever to uplift the e. 
e. whereon we tread 
O e. what changes 
The brute e. lightens 
under whose command 
Is E. and Earth's 



EAST 

30. 8. touch the e. 

72. 4. Up the deep E. 

95. 16. And E. and West 

105. 6. in the lucid e. 



3- 3- 

58. I. 

Ep. 6. 



EAVES 

foliaged e. 

the sharpen "d e. 

ECHO 

hollow e. of my own 
echoes in sepulchral 

halls 
echoes out of weaker 

times 



EDDY 

28. 2. vast eddies in the flood 
EDDY {verb) 
3. that £". round and round 

EDEN 

I. Rings E. thro' the 

budded quicks 
7. the moon Of E. 

EFFECT 

3. thine e. so lives in me 



53 

88 
Ep 

EGG 

50. 3. That lay their eggs 

ELEMENT 

112. 4. elements in order 



■38 



Index. 



95- IS- 

40. 3. 

82. I. 

85. 28. 

117. I. 

6. II. 

12. 4. 

65. 3. 

85. 25. 

100. I. 

118. 2. 

109. 4. 

60. 2. 

85. 9- 

64. I. 

72. 2. 



92. 4- 
Ep. 36. 



98. 4. 

80. 4. 

5- 2. 

iir. 5. 

88. 2. 



ELM 

the full foliaged elms 

EMBRACE 

parting with a long e. 
earth's e. 

yet remembers his e. 
little while from his e. 

END 

shall be the e ? 

Is this the e. 

on to noble ends 

some settled e. 

from ^. to e. 

For ever nobler ^«a?j 

ENGLAND 

her regal seat Of E. 
ENVY {verb) 
envying all that meet 

ESSENCE 

O sacred e. 

ESTATE 

life in low e. began 
my crown'd e. 

EVANGELIST 

lips of that E. 

EVENT 

refraction of events 
one far-off divine e. 

EVIL 

E. haunts The birth 

EXAMPLE 

Unused e. 

EXERCISE 

sad mechanic e. 

EXPRESSION 

the e. of an eye 

EXTREME 

fierce extremes ^vci^Xoy 



the darken 'd eyes 
a vanish'd e. 
Mine eyes have leisure 
look'd to human eyes 
e. which watches guilt 
that e. foresee 
every e. was dim 
Her eyes are homes 
those wild eyes 



40. 


2. 


SI- 


2. 


SI- 


4- 


56. 


3- 


57- 


3. 


61. 


2. 


62. 


I. 


62. 


3- 


67. 


3- 


68. 


3- 



77. I. 
80. 1. 
87. 10. 



90. 

95- 
96. 
97- 
97- 

lOO. 

109. 
109. 



EVE (continued) 
her tender eyes 
See with clear e. 
With larger other eyes 
purpose in his eyes 
look'd with human eyes 
cast thine eyes below 
e. that "s downw ard cast 
light of deeper eyes 
eaves of wearied eyes 
trouble in thine e. 
turns a musing e. 
dust on tearless eyes 
those ethereal eyes 

He brought an e. 
whose dying eyes 

beaded eyes 

whose light-blue eyes 

dwelt with e. on e. 

with faithful eyes 

pleased a kindred e. 

clearness of an e. 

mine eyes Have look'd 

expression of an e. 

with temperate eyes 

cast a careless e. 

friendship of thine e. 
. look thro' dimmer eyes 

bends her blissful eyes 

By village eyes 
, that e. to e. shall look 



Pro. I. 

70. I. 

70- 3- 

70. 4. 

76. I. 

84. 5. 

87. 9- 

108. 3. 

116. 3- 
Ep. 



Ep. 21. 



so- 



Pro. I. 

Pro. 6. 

3i- I- 

33- 3- 



F. 

FACE 

have not seen thyy. 

strive to paint The_/I 

shoals of ^MzV^r' A faces 

Looks thy fair/i 

set thy f. 

their \xn\iorT\ faces 

light his/ 

reflex of a human f. 

the f. will shine 

Many a merry/ 

di^xA faces bloom 

FACT 

bared to view Kf. 
FADE {verb) 
fades not yet 
when \f. away 

FAITH 

By/, and/ alone 
We have but/ 
Whose/ has centre 
Her/ thro' form 



Index. 



139 



37. 


I. 


47- 


2. 


50. 


3- 


SI- 


3- 


55- 


5- 


82. 




95- 


i. 


96. 


3- 


96. 


3- 


96. 




97- 


8. 


97- 


9- 


108. 


2. 


124. 


I. 


124. 


3. 


127. 


I. 


131. 


3- 



fAiTH [contimied) 
Thisy! has many a 
/. as vague 
when my/, is dry 
want oiy. 
lame hands of /. 
can fright my_/ 
strangely spoke The_/! 
Perplext m/. 
more_/i in honest doubt 
a strongery. his own 
sings Of early_/ 
Her_/! is fixt 
lies in barren/! 
Our dearest/! j 

when/. had fall 'n asleep 
tho'/ and form 
/. that comes of self- 
control 

FALL 

that redden to the/. | 

FALSE {adj.) I 

Ring out the/! . 

FALTER {verb) I 

/. where I firmly trod \ 

FAME 

The/! is quench'd 

What/ is left 

wraith of dying/! I 

silence guard thy/! 

is more than/! 1 

FANCY j 

3. Our home-hrtd fancies 
5. My /ii«£r/^.y time torise 

3. And but iox fancies \ 
5. /. fuses old and new , 

4. F. light from F. caught 
2. faiicy's tenderest eddy 
2. dare we to this/, give 
I. a/ trouble-tost 

I. when ray fancies play 

1. Take wings of/ 

2. Then/, shapes as/ can 
[2. Ah, backward/ 

3. let the/ fly 

5. villain/, fleeting by 
5. the breeze of F. 

FANE 

3 . f cities of fruitless prayer 

2. in college/iz«(?j 

FAREWELL 

I. I took/. 

3. the thing/! 



II. 


3- 


crowded/ar»M 

FAR (a^'.) 


130. 


4- 


/! o£E thou art 

FASHION 


III. 


2. 


iox fashion! s sake 

FATE 


64. 


6. 


limit of his narrow/! 

FATHER 


6. 


3- 


/! wheresoe'er thou be 


6. 


8. 


her father'' s chimney 


30. 


8. 


0, Z''., touch the east 


40. 


3- 


joys the / move 


53- 


I. 


How many a/ 


89. 


12. 


into her father'' s grave 


98. 


4- 


fathers bend 


105. 


2. 


0\xr father'' s dust 


124. 


5- 


knows his/, near 
FATHOM {verb) 


85. 


23- 


'T is hard for thee to/! 

FAUN 


iiS. 


7- 


fly The reeling F. 

FEAR 


IS- 


4- 


but for/, it is not so 


32. 


3- 


all curious /^ari- 


41- 


4- 


that vague/! 


SI- 


3- 


vi'iih. fears untrue 


8s- 


17. 


separate irom fears 


no. 


I. 


haunt oi fears 


118. 


6. 


hot with h\xYmn% fears 


127. 


'• 


in the night of /. 
FEAR (verb) 


Ep. 


II. 


She. fears not 


Ep. 


II. 


will not/! 

FEAST 


47- 


3- 


sit at endless/! 


118. 


7- 


the sensual/. 


Ep. 


19. 


the morning/! 


Ep. 


26. 


Again the/. 

FEATURE 


70. 


I. 


see ih.& features right 
FEEL {verb) 


14. 


5- 


f. it to be strange 


27. 


4- 


/! it when I sorrow 


8s. 




felt it when I sorrow'd 


85. 


II. 


I felt and/. 


97- 


9- 


feels him great and wise 

FEELING 


20. 


2. 


speak their/! 
a gentler/! crept 


SO- 


5 



140 



Index. 



82. 
106. 



86. 



37- 
40. 
46. 
95- 
95- 
102. 



Pro. 

6. 

14. 

45- 



15- 

54- 
84. 

127. 

Ep. 



FELLOW 

2. This_/! would make 

FELLOWSHIP 

6. f. of sluggish moods 

FEUD 

I. anyy. with Death 

3. Ring out the/; 

FEVER 

3. The/, from my cheek 

FIBRE 

1. Thy^^r^j net 
FICKLE {adj.) 

7. Rapt from the/ 

FIELD 

3. The/, the chamber 

2. the/ of time 
6. the master's/ 

8. the yields I know 

4. A bounded/ 

4. dark arms about the / 
13. dark arms about the/ 

6. the pleasant /i'/^J 

FIND {verb) 
ID. 1/ him worthier 

7. to/ thyself so fair 

5. found him all in all 

2. Ji7ids I am not what I 



FINGER 

With trembling/w^^rj 
God's/ touch'd him 
A fiery/ on the leaves 

FIRE 

fringed with/ 
in a fruitless/ 
the never-lighted/ 
compass'd by \.\\e fires 
a rising/ 

FIRESIDE 

her old/ 

FIRSTLING 

/ to the flock 

FLAKE 

molten \xi\.Q) flakes 

FLAME 

keen seraphic/ 
steals a silver/ 
heaved a windless/ 
Ray round with /^wf J 



87. 5. 



FLASH 

44. 2. A Httle/ 
122. 4. former/ of joy 

FLAT 

87. 4. The same gray flats 

FLECK 

52. 4. flecks of sin 

FLESH 

33. 3. sacred be the/ 

FLOCK 

115. 3. The /^c-^j are whiter 

FLOOD 

9. 2. prosperous /i?(?^ 

85. 18. the steaming ^^^</f 

86. 2. the horned/ 
103. 7. roU'd the floods 

127. 4. roar in/ 

128. 2. eddies in the/ 

FLOOR 

and beat the/ 
countercharge the/ 

FLOWER 

a/ beat with rain 
poor/ of poesy 

From/ to/ 

/ is feeling after/ 
all the color of the/ 

/ of human time 
ankle deep in flowers 
the/ of men 
admits not flowers 
the bridal/ 
lightly like a/ 

/ and fruit 

FLUCTUATION 

112. 4. word-wide/ 

FLUTE 

23. 6. a/ of Arcady 
105. 6. nor/ be blown 

FLY 

50. 3. flz'es of latter spring 
96. I. drowning ^;Vj 

FLY {verb) 
41. I. flies the lighter thro' the 
gross 

FOLD 

22. 4. formless in the/ 
100. 2. or lonely/ 

FOLIAGE 

89. I. height Of/ 



s! 


4- 

5- 


22. 


I. 


39- 


2. 


43- 
61. 


2 


89. 


i3. 


99. 


I. 


107. 


2. 


Ep. 
Ep. 
Ep. 


7- 
10. 
34- 



Index. 



41 



41. 


3- 


Deep/. 

FONT 


29. 


3. 


cold baptismal/ 

FOOL 


Pro. 
4- 
10. 

69. 
69. 
no. 


8. 
4- 
3- 
3- 
4- 
3- 


We 3.re. fools and slight 

the/ of loss 

ThQ/ools of habit 
/ that wears a crown 

They called me/. 

the brazen/ 

FOOL-FURY 


127. 


2. 


red/ of the Seine 

FOOT 


Pro. 


2. 


thy/ Is on the skull 

with equal /^^ 

set thy feet 

walks with aimless/?^/' 

Whose/^^ are guided 

Thy feet have stray'd 

my feet are set 

Her /<r^^, my darling 


25- 

37- 
54- 
66. 

102. 

102. 

Ep. 


2. 
2. 
3- 
4. 
6. 
13- 



85. II. 

85. 28. 

lo,. 5. 



64. 

73- 
79- 

112. 

112. 

125. 



114. 2. 
15. 2. 



3- 3- 

13. I. 

16. 2. 

33- I- 

47- 2. 

61. 3. 

79. 2. 

87. 10. 

89. II. 

91. 2. 



FOOTSTEP 

The/i7^/.f/i?/j of his life 
at his/, leaps no more 
no/ beat the floor 
guide W&r footsteps 

FORCE 

by/ his merit known 
the large results of/ 
of what/ thou art 
with/ and skill 
boldness gather/ 
this electric/ 

FORD 

passing thro' the/ 

FOREHEAD 

on her/ sits a fire 

FOREST 

The/ crack'd 

FORM 

A hollow/ 

A late lost/ 

no more of transient/ 

to fix itself to/ 

Eternal/ 

Where thy first/ 

The same sweet/'r;«.y 

seem to lift the/ 

in/ and gloss 

Come, wear the/ 



91. 
95- 

IDS- 

106. 



71- 
127. 

64. 

85. 
109. 

83. 

52. 



FORM {continued) 
in thine after/ 
matter-moulded forms 
keep an ancient/ 
fori7is of party strife 
veil His wantin/(7r?«j 
seeming-random/^rwj 
flow From/ to/ 

FORTRESS 

The / and the moun- 
tain-ridge 
The/ crashes 

FORTUNE 

F.''s crowning slope 

FOUNTAIN 

show'd him in the/ 
household foitntaifis 

FOX-GLOVE 

bring the/ spire 

FRAILTY 

human/ do me wrong 



14. 
36. 
45- 
50. 
78. 
86. 
93- 
Ep. 



in all his/ 
our mystic/ 
/ that binds him in 
the sensuous/ 
all this mystic/ 
throughout my/ 
blindness of the/ 
changed the/ 

FRAME-WORK 

87. 6. /. of the land 

FRANCE 

71. I. went thro' summer ^. 
Ep. 20. grape of eastern F. 

FREEDOM 

4. a love of / 

4. / in her regal seat 

FREIGHT 

2. thy dark/ 

FRIEND 

1. Other friends remain 
II. unto me no second/ 

4. My/, the brother 
4. Comes he thus, my/ 

3. at once, my/ to thee 

2. my/ is richly shrined 
7. old/ remember me 

3. the name oi friends 
3. jest among \i\%frie7ids 



109. 
109. 



6. 
6. 
9- 
12. 

41. 
57- 
64. 
65. 
66. 



142 



hidex. 





FRIEND {continued) 






GAME 


84. 




Thy blood, my/. 


29. 


2. 


and g. and jest 


85. 


15- 


beat again For other 


78. 


3- 


our ancient games 






friends 


102. 


5- 


in a losing g. 


85. 


25- 


your pardon, O my_/ 


105. 


6. 


nor z. nor feast 


87. 




youthfuiy>-/>«^i- 






GARDEN 


98. 




/. from / Is oftener 










parted 


43- 


3- 


Still g. of the souls 


100. 




memory of my f. 


lOI. 


5- 


the g. and the wild 


102. 




with thy losty: 






GARDEN-WALK 


114. 
126. 




Of., who camest 
tidings of my f 


102. 


2. 


down the garden-walks 


129. 




Dear/, far off 






GATE 


129. 




Dear heavenlyy! 


85. 


6. 


the blessed g. 


129. 




Strange/ 


94. 


4- 


listen at the gates 


Ep. 


35- 


That/ of mine 






GATHER (verb) 






FRIENDSHIP 


95- 


IS- 


gathering freshlier 


85. 


9- 


0/ equal-poised 






GAZE 


85. 


16. 


half of such A/ 


32. 


2. 


her ardent g. 


85. 


20. 


/ for the years to come 






GENERATION 


85. 


28. 


First love, first/ 


40. 


4- 


to knit The gemrai ions 


119. 


3- 


/ of thine eye 






GENTLE {.adj. ) 






FRINGE 


Ep. 


ID. 


g., liberal-minded 


72. 


3. 


her crimson/r/;/^« 






GENTLEMAN 






FRITH 


in. 


6. 


grand old name of g. 


Ep. 


29. 


o'er ^^ friths 






GENTLENESS 






FRONT 


III. 


3- 


The g. he seem'd to be 


119. 


2. 


the black/r^«/j 






GHOST 

solemn g. 








85- 


9- 






FROST 


93- 


4- 


My G. may feel 


4- 


3- 


shaken into/ 






GIANT 


78. 
81. 


2. 
3- 


sparkled keen with/ 
My sudden/ 


118. 


'• 


g. laboring in his youth 

GIFT 






FRUIT 


85. 


12. 


gifts of grace 


40. 


5- 


bears immortal/ 


8S- 


3- 


take the imperfect g. 
g. of years before 


loS. 


4- 


take what/ may be 


97- 


7- 












GIRL 


64. 


7- 


FURROW 

in the/ musing stands 

FURY 


52. 
60. 


4- 

I. 


like an idle g. 
Like some poor g. 

GLADE 


so- 


2. 


Life a F. slinging flame 

FURZE 


lOI. 


6. 


lops the glades 

GLADNESS 


il. 


2. 


dews that drench the/ 


24. 


3- 


former g. 








30. 


2. 


vain pretence Of g. 






G. 


31- 


3- 


A solemn g. 








32. 


3- 


Borne down by g. 






GAIN 






GLANCE 


54- 


3- 


subserves another's g. 


84. 


2. 


In g. and smile 


117. 


I. 


g. of after bliss 






GLASS 






GALE 


6. 


9- 


havmg left the g. 


2. 


3- 


changest not in any g. 


'5- 


3- 


plane of molten g. 



Index. 



143 







GLASS {continued) 






GOD {contintied) 


87. 


s- 


boys That crashed the ^. 


55- 


2. 


Are God and nature 


107. 


4- 


brim the g. 






then at strife 






GLEAM 


55- 


4- 


darkness up to God 


38. 


2. 
4. 


doubtful ^. of solace 
yonder greening g. 


56. 
73. 

85. 


4- 
3- 
5. 


trusted God was love 
It rests with God 
God^s finger touch'd 






GLEBE 


87. 


9- 


The God within him 


lOI. 


6. 


His wonted g. 


III. 


5. 


God and nature met 






GLOBE 


130. 


3- 


mix'd with God 


84. 


9- 


fail from off the g. 


Ep. 


35- 


who lives in God 


2. 


3- 


GLOOM 

thousand years of g. 


Ep. 
Ep. 


36. 
36. 


God which ever lives 
One God one law 


39- 


3- 


g. is kindled at the tips 






GODS 


43- 


I. 


intervital g. 


93. 


3- 


gods in unconjectured 


70. 


i_ 


on the^. I strive 






bliss 


86. 


I. 


gorgeous g. Of evening 


96. 


6. 


their gods of gold 


95- 


14. 


from out the distant g. 






GOLD 


109. 
122. 


3- 


no ascetic g. 
burst the folded g. 


96. 


6. 


their gods of g. 


Ep. 


30. 


With tender g. 

GLORY 


106. 


7- 


narrowing lust of g. 

GOOD 


24. 


4- 


will always win A g. 


3- 


4- 


as my natural g. 


67. 




a g. on the walls 


6. 


II. 


to me remains of g. 


67. 


3' 


mystic g. swims away 


33- 


3- 


quicker unto g. 


69. 


5. 


the g. of a hand 


47- 


3- 


each the other's^. 


88. 


3. 


g. of the sum of things 


53- 


4- 


Hold thou the g. 


118. 


5. 


of woe Like glories 


54. 


I. 


trust that somehow g. 
trust that g. shall fall 


121. 


I. 


a.g. done 


54- 


4- 








84. 


2. 


crown'd w ith g. 


I. 


3. 


GLOSS 

keep her raven g. 


106. 
109. 


6. 
3. 


common love of g. 
amorous of the g. 






GLOW 


128. 


2. 


ye mysteries of g. 


2. 


3- 


not for thee the g. 


129. 


3- 


a dream of g. 


12. 


3- 


g. of southern skies 






GOSSAMER 


84. 


I. 


thoughts on all the g. 
GO (z/eri?) 


II. 


2. 


the silvery gossamers 


12. 


2. 


Like her I g. 






GOWN 


20. 


5- 


and he is gone 


87. 


I. 


I wore the g. 


123. 


13- 


and g. with us 






GRACE. 






GOAL 


8S- 


12. 


gifts of g. 


54- 


I. 


final g. of ill 


109, 


5- 


fused with female g. 


72. 
84. 
114. 


7- 
6. 


dull g. of joyless gray 
the blessed^, 
earnest to thy g. 

GOD 


41. 


3- 


GRADE 

grades of life and light 

GRAIN 


Pro. 


I. 


Strong Son of God 


53. 


2. 


scarce had grown The^. 


6. 


4- 


praying God will save 


65. 


I. 


g. shall not be spilt 


10. 


4- 


the grapes of God 


81. 


3. 


all ripeness to the g. 


34- 


3- 


What then were God 


117. 


3. 


every g. of sand 


44. 


I. 


G^a? shut the doorways 








51- 


4- 


Ye watch like God 






GRANGE 


54- 


2. 


God hath made the pile 


91. 


3. 


the lonely g. 


55- 


I. 


God within the soul 


100. 


2. 


No gray old g. 



144 



Index. 



35- 6. 

t.p. 20. 



21. I. 

128. 5. 
Ep. 24. 



122. 

Ep. 



GRAPE 

crush'd the g. 
The foaming g. 

GRASS 

grasses round me wave 
tuft with g. 
cloudlets on the g. 



wandering g. 
grasses of the g. 
weeping by his g. 
digs the g. 

the &?ixV graves of men 
I wrong the g. 
fail beyond the g. 
example from the g. 
Above more graves 
the g. Divide us not 
they pass the g. 
To-day the g. is bright 

GREATNESS 

thy g. to be guess'd 
what his g. is 



64. I. 

75- 4- 

57- 4- 

Pro. ID. 

4- 3- 



24. 
61. 

75- 
77- 
78. 
80. 



85. 2. 

85- 13- 

85. 24. 



105. 3- 

106. 3. 



simple village g. 
perish'd in the g. 

GREETING 

greetittgs to the dead 

GRIEF 

Forgive my g. 

g. hath shaken into 

frost 
the g. I feel 
that large g. 
a calmer^, 
hush'd my deepest g. 
The lesser griefs 
other griefs within 
the haze of g. 
not the voice of g. 
measure of my^. 
page that tells A g. 
O g. CAwg. be changed 
g. my loss in him had 

wrought 
which is our common^, 
in my g. a strength 
g. with symbols play 
midmost heart of g. 
shall wayward g. 
Ring out the g. 



Ep. 
Ep. 



6. 


7 


69. 


3 


84. 


8 


98. 


8. 


103. 


2 


103. 


3 


Ep. 


29. 



10. 

28. 



GROUND 

to beat the g. 
here upon the g. 
beneath the g. 
new unhallow'd^. 

GROVE 

gird the windy g. 
GROW {verb) 
g. incorporate into thee 
But as he grows 
grown To something 
For thee she grejv 

GROWTH 

train To riper g. 
like g. of time 

GUARD 

his faithful g. 

GUIDE 

was g. to each 
GUIDE {verb) 
alone had guided m& 
GUESS {verb) 
I cannot^. 

GUEST 

expectation of a g. 
a welcome g. 
myself an honor'd g. 
A g. or happy sister 
Conjecture of a stiller^. 

GULF 

shudders at the gulfs 
g. that ever shuts 

GUST 

g. that round the gar- 
den flew 

H. 

HAIR 

ranging golden h. 
hoary hairs 
silver h. 

HALL 

Imperial halls 
dwelt within a h. 
h. with harp and carol 
The white-faced halls 

HAMLET 

kneeling h. 

vclces of four hamlets 



Index. 



145 



33- 
36- 
40. 
55- 
64. 
69. 
70. 
72. 
75- 



89. 
102. 
105. 
125. 



HAMMER 

4. hear'st the village h. 

HAMMOCK-SHROUD 

4. heavy-shotted h. 



I. 2. 

3- 3- 

7. I. 

7. 2. 



3- 
3- 
3- 
3- 

8. 
5- 
7- 
5- 
2. 

5- 
5- 
80. 4- 

84. II. 

85. 10. 
87. 5. 

106. 8. 
109. 5- 
114. 5- 

124. 6. 

129. 2. 
Ep. 18. 
Ep. 33- 



Ep. 12. 



HAND 

reach a //. thro' time 
form with empty hands 
waiting for a h. 
k. that can be clasped 
letters unto trembling 

hands 
hands so often clasp'd 
warm hands have prest 
strike a sudden h. 
Come then, pure hajtds 
hands ■a.re. quicker 
With human hands 
have shaken hands 
stretch lame hands 
the labor of his hands 
the glory of a h. 
h. that points 
h. struck down 
hands are set to do 
Reach out dead hands 
the shining h. 
act at human hands 
clapping hands 
the kindlier h. 
twine A trustful h. 
higher h. must make 
pressure of thine h. 
out of darkness came 

the Juinds 
Sweet human h. 
to whom her h. I gave 
in her >^. Is Nature 

HARDIHOOD 

Sick for thy stubborn h. 

HARM 

all her life from h. 

HART 

sings To one clear h. 
my h. would prelude 
here she brought the h. 
with h. and carol rang 
Nor h. be touch'd 
notes my h. would give 

HASTE 

tho' I walk in h. 

HAUNT 

h. of fears 



59. 2. 



23. I. 
39- 2. 
44. I. 



73- 2. 

94. I. 

Ep. 13. 

Ep. 29. 

Ep. 21. 

Ep. 26. 



19. I. 

57- 3- 

4. I. 

4. 2. 

5. 2. 

6. 2. 

7. I. 

8. 5- 
II. 4. 



25- 


3. 


27. 


3- 


37- 


4- 


42. 


I. 


50- 


I. 


58. 


2. 


62. 


2. 


63. 


I. 


66. 


I. 


79- 


I. 


82. 


4- 


85. 


9. 



HAVE {verb) 
wilt h. me wise 

HAZEL 

hazels tassel-hung 

HEAD 

while thy h. is bow'd 
bear the'/t. That sleeps 
cloak'd from h. to foot 
toward the dreamless h. 
the doorways of his h. 
I sink my h. 
h. hath miss'd 
sound in h. 
tablets round her h. 
every mountain h. 

HEALTH 

h. to bride and groom 
the double h. 

HEAR 

I h. it now 
cannot h. each other 
were fed to h. him 
myself have heard him 

HEARER 

wluch outran The h. 

HEARING 

in the h. of the wave 
till h. dies 

HEART 

with my h. I muse 
O h. , how fares it 
unquiet h. and brain 
but some h. did break 
my h. was used to beat 
O my forsaken h. 
in my h. if calm at all 
where h. on h. reposed 
falling on his faithful h. 
The darken'd h. 
melt the waxen hearts 
weary h. or limb. 
h. that never plighted 
an aching h. 
vex my h. with fancies 
the h. is sick 
the peace Of hearts 
On some unworthy h. 
no weight upon my h. 
my h. too far diseased 
not vex thee, noble h. 
gamers in my h. 
O h. with kindliest mo- 
tion 



46 



Index. 



85. 


27- 


85- 


29. 


88. 


2. 


89. 


6. 


94. 


I. 


94. 


4- 


95- 


6. 


97. 


3. 


97- 


5- 


106. 


8. 


loS. 




119. 


I. 


124. 


4- 


Ep. 


21. 



20 4. 

30. I. 

78. 1. 

98. 5. 



107. 
IC9. 



HEART {cotiihmed) 
with the virgin h. 
My h., tho' vvidow'd 
midmost h. of grief 
h. and ear were fed 
How pure at h. 
h. is full of din 
A hunger seized my h. 
hearts of old have 

beat 
slight her simple h. 
The larger h. 
not eat my h. alone 
my h. was used to beat 
the h. Stood up 
And hearts diXQ warm'd 

HEART-AFFLUENCE 

I. H. in discursive talk 

HEARTH 

by the h. the children 
round the Christmas h. 
round the Christmas A. 
By each cold h. 

HEAT 

outliving heats of youth 
winking thro' the h. 
solid core of h. 
not the schoolboy h. 
tracts of fluent h. 



16. 3- 

33- 2. 

40. 5. 

63. I. 

76. I. 

90. I. 

108. 2. 

122. I. 

Ep. 27. 

23. 6. 

47- 4- 

63. 3- 



90. 4. 



53- 4- 
127. 5- 



118. 



Sleep, gentle heavens 
bear thro' H. a tale of 

woe 
shadow of a h. 
Her early H. 
energies of h. 
assumptions up to h. 
starry heavens of space 
Where nighest h. 
heaven's highest height 
the eternal Heavens 
in h. the steaming cloud 

HEIGHT 

On Argive heights 
last and sharpest h. 
higher h. a deeper deep 

HEIR 

The hard h. 

HELL 

the Lords of H. 
the fires of H. 

HERALD 

h. of a higher race 



35- 
56. 
72. 
79- 
84. 
89. 
98. 
100. 

lOI. 
123- 



33- 
44. 

103. 

28. 



14- 
40. 
102. 



HERB 

6. bruised the h. 
I. the h. was dry 

HERN 

4. haunts of h. and crake 

HESPER 

1. H. o'er the buried sun 

HESPER-PHOSPHOR 

5. Sweet H. , double name 

HILL 

2. a silence in the hills 

3. the la\dsh hills 

1. bells from h. to h. 

3. .Ionian hills 

5. the iron hills 

4. Along the hills 

2. h. and wood 

7. below the golden hills 

8. the bounding h. 
I. those fair hills 

1. I climb the h. 

6. circle of the hills 

2. The hills are shadows 

HINT 

5. No h. of death 

2. with shadow 'd h. con- 
fuse 

2. a mystic h. 

HISTORY 

9. one would chant the h. 

HOLD 

4. my h. on life 
HOLD {verb) 
4. I -^. it true 

HOLLY 

I. did we weave The h. 
I. did we weave The h. 
I. h. by the cottage-eave 

HOLY LAND 

II. He that died in //. 

HOME 

1. gone and far from A. 

3. a thousand things of h. 

2. her latest leave of h. 

2. ere we go from h. 

HOODMAN-BLIND 

3. dance and song and h. 

HOPE 

3. descended following /(^. 



Index. 



H7 



125 
128 

6. 

63- 
Ep. 



35- 
39- 
40. 
43- 
46. 
46. 

51- 
72. 
84. 



85 27. 

94. I. 

102. 4. 

104. 2. 

105- 3- 

111. 4. 

112. 3. 
126. I. 
128. 3- 
Ep. 17. 
Ep. iS. 



7. 1. 

29. 3. 

31- 3- 

35- I- 



HOPE {contijiued) 
. when f/. was born 

nor is there A. in dust 
. hopes and Hght regrets 
A^/^j and fears 
trust the larger /t. 
What k. of answer 
A. for years to come 
What A. is here 
/;. of richer store 
whose hopes were dim 
The mighty hopes 
, h. of unaccomplish'd 
years 
h. could never hope 
. H. had never lost 
, fly with h. and fear 

HORSE 

, falling from his A. 
pity for a h. o'erdriven 
white-favor'd horses 



my A. has part 

HOUR 

the victor Aottrs 

at that last h. 

I have been an A. away 

Is this an A. 

but for one h. O Love 

the golden A. 

the widow'd h. 

the sliding /;. 

the growing A. 

holers of still increase. 

the rolling Aoiirs 

the dolorous A. 

remorseless iron A. 

bounteous Aours 

the golden hours 

an hoztr^s communion 

in after hours 

at this A. of rest 

abuse The genial A. 

office of the social A. 

from A. to /z. 

every h. his couriers 

Wild Hours that fly 

^. and happier hours 

happy A. 

HOUSE 
dark h. 

portals of the A. 
From every A. 
from the narrov/ h. 



36. 
60. 
84. 
95- 

97- 



108. 



107. 
127. 



85. 
102. 



94- 3- 



HOUSE {continued) 

4. Or builds the A. 
3. In that dark A. 

3. one Of mine own A. 

5. in the A. light after 

light 
8. matters of the A. 

HOWLING 

4. hoivlbigs from forgotten 

fields 

HUE 

1. the hues are faint 

2. takes a lovelier A. 

HUNGER 

6. A A. seized my heart 

HYMN 

3. chanting Ayinns 

HYSTERICS 

4. blind A. of the Celt 

I. 

ICE 

2. /. Makes daggers 

3. The spires of i. 

IDEAL 

3. that i. which he bears 

ILL 

■;. suffer'd countless ills 



IMAGE 

/. comforting the mind 
one pure /. of regret 

IMAGINATION 

Irnagi7tations calm 
The strong i. roll 

INCREASE 



46. 


3- 


hours of still t. 

INDIFFERENCE 


26. 


3- 


the /. to be 

INFANT 


54. 

54- 


5- 

5- 


/. crying in the nijght 
/. crying for the light 

INFLUENCE 


49. 


I. 


random influences 

INSECT 


124. 


2. 


insect's eye 

INSUFFICIENCY 


112. 


I. 


glorious insufficiencies 



148 



Index, 



8s. 12. 

95. 12. 

109. 2. 

113. 2, 

85. 6. 



103. 6. 



98. 3. 



45- 
96. 

Ep. 



INTELLECT 

All-subtilizing /. 
ev'n for /. to reach 
Seraphic /. 
keen In /. 

INTELLIGENCE 

great Intelligences fair 

INTEREST 

far off i. of tears 

IRIS 

under ranks Of /. 

IRON 

/. dug from central 
gloom 

ISLE 

wandering isles 
Enwind her isles 

ISOLATION 

His /. grows defined 

ISRAEL 

/. made their gods 

" I-WILL " 

her sweet " /." 
J- 



JAR 

94. 4. hear the household y. 

JAW 

34. 4. Jaws Of vacant dark- 
ness 



66. 
84. 


I 


JEST 

J. among h^s friends 
graceful/. 


38. 


2. 


JOY 

No/, the blowing sea- 


40. 
88. 
89. 
22. 


3- 
2. 
4. 
4- 


son gives 
Joys the father move 
clasps a secret/. 
Ohy. to him 
the former flash of /. 


96. 


4- 


JUDGMENT 

make his/, blind 



3. Thy sliding k. 
I. noise about thv k. 



23. 
26. 
64. 



"7- 3- 
Ep. 23. 



79. 4. 
Ep. 12. 



6. 
35- 

47- 
59- 
60. 
85. 
96. 

99. 
no. 



129. 2. 

Pro. 6. 

Pro. 7. 

16. 4. 

85. 7. 

114. I. 

Ep. 33- 



KEY 

keys of all the creeds 
waiting with the keys 
clutch the golden keys 

KIND 

kindly with my k. 
are one in k. 
What k. of hfe 
shut me from my k. 

KINDRED 

Thy k. with the great 

KINE 

The white k. glimmer'd 
The white k. glimmer'd 

KING 

the blaze of kings 
By blood a k. 
my Lord and K. 
my K. and Lord 

KISS 

k. of toothed wheels 

KISS {z'erb) 
Farewell, we k. 

KNEE 

At one dear k. 
danced her on my k. 

KNOLL 

reveal'd The knolls 
KNOW {verb) 
Ye k. no more than I 
to k. that I shall 

die 
I shall k. him 
howsoe'er I k. thee 
she kno^i^us not what 
could better k. than I 
I k. not ; one indeed I 

kjicw 
They k. me not 
and he knew not 

why 
A 7WMn and tinktiown 

KNOWLEDGE 

k. is of things we 

see 
Let k. grow from more 

to more 
my k. of myself 
k. that the sons of flesh 
Who loves not K. 
shall look On k. 



Index. 



149 



L. 

LABOR 

64. 7. reaps the /. of his hands 
84. 7. thy prosperous /. fills 
87. 6. /. and the changing 
mart 

LABORER 

loi. 6. year by year the /. tills 

LABURNUM 

83. 3. Laburnums dropping- 
wells of fire 

LABYRINTH 

97. 6. the /. of the mind 

LADING 

25. 3. The /. of a single pain 

LAKE 

16. 2. than some dead /. 

LAMP 

98. 7. all is gay with lamps 

LANCE 

49. I. many a shiver'd /. 

LAND 

10. 2. from foreign latids 
14. I. hadst touch'd the /. 

violet of his native /. 

lands where not a leaf 

sweep the winter /. 

in undiscover'd lands 

guided thro' the /. 

strides about their lands 

from the native /. 

In lands where not a 
memory strays 

their lives From I. to /. 

the solid lands 

LANDING-PLACE 

4. Some /., to clasp 

LAND-MARK 

3. Nor /. breathes 

LANDSCAPE 

2. eternal /. of the past 

4. The /. winking 

1. Of all the/, underneath 

5. year by year the /. grow 

LANE 

2. /. of early dawn 

LANGUAGE 

2. use in measured /. lies 
5. no /. but a cry 



18. 


I 


23- 


3 


30. 


3- 


40. 


8. 


66. 


3- 


90. 


4- 


93- 


I 


04. 


3. 


15- 


5 


23- 


2. 



104. 



16. 

68. 
115- 

70. 

37- 

33- 

48. 
73- 
85. 
87. 
89. 



15- 

23- 

43- 
69. 

75- 
88. 
95- 
95- 
98. 
Ep. 



LARCH 
plumelets tuft the /. 

LARK 

the shadow of a /. 
/. had left the lea 
/. a sightless song 

LATTICE 

thro' a /. on the soul 

LAUREL 

hear thy /. whisper 

LAW 

holding by the /. within 
serves a wholesome /. 
that errs from /. 
loyal unto kindly laws 
in the bounds of I. 
purlieus of the /. 
her motion one with /. 

LAWN 

the floor Of this flat /. 
we linger'd on the /. 
lights on /. and lea 

LAY 

these brief lays 
trust a larger /. 
deepest lays are dumb 

LAY (verb) 
And laid them 

LAZAR 

the /. in his rags 

LAZARUS 

L. left his charnel-cave 

LEA 

his native /. 

LEAF 

thro' the faded /. 
leaves that redden 
The last red /. 
not a /. was dumb 
many a figured /. 
seem'd to touch it into /. 
Thy /. has perish'd 
the darkening /. 
those fall'n leaves 
leaves of the sycamore 
brown Of Xxxsiier leaves 
The dead /. trembles 



LEAGUE 

4. leagues of odor 



ISO 



Index, 



40. 

58. 

59- 

100. 
103. 
114. 

37- 
84. 
62. 
70. 
59- 
79- 
98. 



67. 
84. 
95- 



LEARN {verb) 

And when they learnt 

LEAVE 

latest /. of home 
take a nobler /. 
/. at times to play 
LEAVE {verb) 
leaving these to pass 
wilt thou /. us now 
leavi?ig me behind 

LEDCE 

ledges of the hill 

LEGACY 

legacies of thought 

LEGEND 

fading /. of the past 

LENGTH 

lazy lengtJis 
LESSEN {verb) 
Nor will it /. 

LESSON 

One /. from one book 

LETHE 

wisp that gleams On L. 

LETTER 

letters unto trembling 

hands 
letters of thy name 
flowery walk Of letters 
letters of the dead 

LEVER 

/. to uplift the earth 



27. 


2. 


LICENSE 

His /. in the field of time 

LIE 


2=;. 
128. 


2. 

4- 


play'd with gracious lies 
with glorious lies 

LIFE 


Pro. 
2. 
6. 

7- 
10. 


2. 

3- 
3- 
2. 


Thou madest L. 
little lives of men 
Hath stili'd the /. 
the noise of /. 
a vanish'd /. 


13- 
14. 

iS. 
25- 


3- 
4- 
4- 


a /. removed 
how my /. had droop'd 
the /. that almost dies 
I know that this wasZ. 


26. 


3- 


In more of /. true /. 



28. 
32. 
32. 

33- 

34- 

34- 



41. 

46. 
52. 
53- 
54- 
55- 
55' 
56- 
56. 

57- 

66. 
80. 
82. 
82. 
84. 
84. 
85. 
85. 

85. 

85. 

86. 

90. 

95- 

97- 
105. 
113- 
IIS- 
116. 



75- 



LIFE {continued) 

4. my hold on /. 

2. rest upon the Z. indeed 

4. blest whose lives 

2. /. that leads melodious 

days 

I. My own dim /. 

1. /. shall live for ever- 
more 

5. /. that bears immortal 

fruit 

6. evermore a /. behind 

1 . Lest /. should fail 

4. /. is dash'd with flecks 

3. /. outliving heats 

2. /. shall be destroy'd 

1. No /. may fail 

2. careless of the single /. 
2. I bring to /. 

7. O /. as futile, then 
2. my /. I leave behind 
2. my /. was crost 

2. grief as deep as I. 
I. no lower /. 

4. our lives so far apart 

1. /. that bad been thine 

3. link thy /. with one 

2. What kind of /. 

8. Whose /. whose 

thoughts 

12. A /. that all the Muses 

deck'd 

24. pining /. be fancy-fed 

3. The full new /. 

2. resume their /. 
16. like /. and death 

5. Her /. is lone 

4. lives are chiefly proved 

3. A /. in civic action 

4. that live their lives 

2. /. re-orient out of dust 

5. /. is not as idle ore 

2. /. is darken'd 
4. thoughts of /. 

9. her /. was yet in bud 

12. shielded all her /. 

13. living words of /. 

19. the light of /. increased 

32. /. of lower phase 

LIFETIME 

3. half the /. of an oak 



Pro. 
Pro. 



broken lights of Thee 
to bear thy /. 
all the magic /. 
thr"^' early /. 



Index. 



51 



9- 


4- 


17- 


3- 


22,- 


4- 


30. 


8. 


47- 


4- 


49- 


I. 


50- 


I. 


62. 


3- 


85. 


19- 


91. 


4- 


95- 


5- 


95- 
[06. 


16. 


US- 


3- 


[21. 


3- 



74- 
74- 

95- 

25- 

103. 
87. 



64. 6. 



40. 
41. 
Ep. 



J- 

18. 


4- 


22. 




39- 




48. 




84. 




19. 




23. 





LIGHT {continued) 
Sphere all your lights 
like a line of /. 
/. from fancy caught 
light The /. that shone 
lose ourselves in /• 
/. in many a shiver'd 

lance 
when my /. is low 
in the /. of deeper eyes 
change of /. or gloom 
like a finer /. in /. 
/. after /. Went out 
Mixt their dim lights 
the frosty /. 
lights on lawn and lea 
comes the greater /. 

LIGHTNING 

wizard lightnijtgs 

LIKENESS 

A /. hardly seen before 
/. to the wise below 

LILY 

The lilies to and fro 

LIMB 

heart or /. 
wax'd in every /. 

LIME {tree) 
long walk of limes 
LIME {7nineral) 
Nature's earth and /. 

LIMIT 

I. of his narrower fate 

LINK 

A /. among the days 
I have lost the li7iks 
close /. Betwixt us 

LINNET 

as the linnets sing 

/. born within the cage 

hears the latest /. trill 

LIP 

from thy lying /. 
breathing thro' his lips 
murmur on thy /. 
from thy lying lips 
loosens from the /. 
fills The lips of men 
ihy lips are bland 
lips may breathe adieu 



21. 7. 

107. 5. 

109. 2. 

26. I. 



10. 3. 

18. 5- 

49- 3- 

69. 4. 

Ep. 8. 



Pro. 5. 

Pro. 9. 

6. 10. 

42. 2. 

53- 4- 

55- 5- 

112. 2. 

126. I. 

126. 2. 



92. 
103. 



Pro. 

I. 

6. 



LITTLE-ONE 

little-ones have ranged 

LOG 

Bring in great logs 

LOGIC 

Impassion'd /. 
LONG {verb) 
for I /. to prove 

LOOK 

This /. of quiet 
Tieasuring the /. 
look thy /. 
the /. was bright 
they meet thy /. 

LOOK {verb) 
To /. on her that loves 
looking back to whence 
Dost thou /. back 
I look'd on these 
He looks so cold 
And how she look'd 

LORD 

Thou, O Z. art more 
not from man, O L. 
her future L. 
I. of large experience 
to the Lords oi Hell 
I feel is Lord of all 
lesser lords of doom 
Love is and was my L. 
my King and L. 

LOSE {verb) 

which thou hast lost 

I shall not /. thee 

LOSS 

in /. a gain to match 
to be drunk with /. 
L. is common 
That /. is common 
a /. for ever new 
ere our fatal /. 
To breathe my /. 

LOT 

where our lots are cast 
Bewail'd their /. 

LOVE 

immortal L. 
Let L. clasp grief 
long result of /. 
waitest for thy /. 



152 



Index. 



LOVE {^continued) 



LOVE {verb) 



9- 


3- 


our pure /. 


27- 


4- 


to have loved and k st 


25- 


2. 


needed help of L. 


42. 


3- 


loves but knows not 


25. 


3- 


mighty L . would cleave 


52- 


I. 


I cannot /. thee as I 


32. 


2. 


one deep /. 






ought 


32. 


4- 


loves in higher /. en- 


85- 


I. 


to have loved and lost 






dure 


85. 


1. 


never to have loved 


35- 


2. 


for one hour, O L. 


89. 


10. 


he loved to rail 


33- 


4- 


L. would answer 


97- 


5- 


He loves her yet 


35- 


S- 


L. had not been 


97- 


7- 


she loves him more 


37- 


4- 


human /. his dues 


no. 


4- 


And loved them more 


43- 


4- 


/. will last 


129. 




loved the most 


46. 


4- 


Z., thy province 


129. 


3- 


to be Z£>z/^^deeplier 


47- 


3- 


L. on earth 


130. 


2. 


therefore /. thee less 


SI- 
S'- 
52- 


2. 


I be lessen'd in his /. 








3- 


Shall I. be blamed 
/. reflects the thing 


102. 


3- 


LOVE-LANGUAGH 

low /. of the bird 


52- 


2. 


Spirit of true /. 






LOVELINESS 


59- 
62. 


3- 
I. 


creature of my /. 
my /. an idle tale 


36. 


3. 


In I. of perfect deeds 


65. 


I. 


Love''?, too precious 






LOVER 


77- 


4- 


/. more sweet than 


8. 


I. 


A happy /. 


It. 


I. 


praise 
the costliest I. in fee 






LOWER {adj.) 
a /. and a higher 


I. 


My /. shall now no fur- 


129. 


I. 






ther range 






LOWING 


81. 


I. 


now is /. mature in 


99- 


I. 


loavmgs of the herds 


81. 


2. 


ear 
L. then had hope 






LOWNESS 


84- 


10. 


link'd with thine in /. 


24- 


3- 


/. of the present state 


85- 


3- 


whether /. for him 




LOYAL-HEARTED {adj.) 


85- 
^5- 


,1: 


My capabilities of /. 
I woo your /. 


no. 


2. 


On thee the /. hung 


85. 


25. 


/. with I. 






LYRE 


85. 


26. 


with /. as true 


96. 


2. 


touch 'd a jarring /. 


f-s- 


27. 


First I. first friendship 








85- 


29. 


rest Quite in the /. 






M. 


c,o. 




He tasted /. 






95- 


7- 


love''s dumb cry 
My /. has tall-.'d 






MAIDEN 


97- 




40. 


I_ 


As on a ni. in the day 


97- 


4- 


/. has never past away 


77- 


2. 


to curl a maide7i^s locks 


102. 


2. 


spirits of a diverse /. 


103. 


2. 


maidens with me 


106. 


6. 


the /. of truth and right 


103. 


7- 


maidens gathered 


106. 


6. 


the common /. of good 






strength 


110. 


5- 


the /. that will not tire 


103. 


12. 


viaidens v.'ith one mind 


112. 


2. 


room Of all my /. 


Ep. 


17- 


maidens of the place 


114. 
118. 


3- 
I. 


cut from /. and faith 
human I. and truth 






MAIDENHOOD 

perpetual w. 


125. 


2. 


or L. but play'd 


6. 


II. 


126. 


I. 


L. is and was my Lord 






MAIN 


12^. 
128. 


2. 
I. 


L. is and was my King 
/. that rose 


II. 


3- 


the bounding w. 


130. 


3. 


I. involves the /. be- 






MAKE {verb) 






fore 


Pro. 


3- 


Thou hast made him 


130. 


3- 


My /. is vaster passion 


42. 




that made me dream 


Ep. 


3- 


yet is /. not less 


62. 


I. 


could m. thee some- 


Ep. 


5- 


but /. is more 






what blench 



Index. 



153 



MAKE {verb) {continued) 
68. 3. Which makes me sad 
102. 4. tnade them trebly dear 



Pro. 2. 
Pro. 3- 
Pro. 9. 



10. 


2. 


13- 


3 


14- 


3 


16. 


5 


21. 


2 


22. 


3- 


35- 


I. 


43- 


3- 


43- 


I. 


45- 


4 


48. 




50. 


3- 



56. 


3. 


61. 


3- 


64. 


I. 


71- 


3- 


74- 


I. 


77- 


3- 


84. 


7 


85- 


15- 



89. 



95. 9. 

98. 5- 

99. I. 
103. II. 
103. II. 
106. 8. 
109. 2. 
no. I. 

114. I 

118. 3. 



M.\N 

Thou madest life in m. 

Thou madest m. 

lives from ;«. to in. 

men may rise on step- 
ping-stones 

;«. that loved and lost 

the little lives of men 

travell'd meft 

human-hearted m.. 

The ;«. I held as half- 
divine 

that delirious m. 

waxen hearts of men 

the Shadow/ fear'd of m. 

voice that m. could 
trust 

nothing lost to ;;;. 

the in. is more and more 

had m. to learn himself 

such as men might scorn 

inen the flies of latter 
spring 

A sober m. among his 
boys 

grain by which a ni. 
may live 

M. her last work 

first form was made a m. 

some divinely gifted m. 

Of 7nen and minds 

in a diad fnan''s face 

A m. upon a stall shall 
find 

The lips of men 

mighty hopes that made 
U5 men 

picturesque of jn. and 
m. 

m. whose thought 
would hold 

The daad m. touched 
me from the past 

at the heels of men 

the flower of men 

Th^ m. we loved 

thrice as large as m. 

Ring in the valiant m. 

the doubts of m. 

men of rathe and riper 
years 

May she mix With men 

at the last arose the m. 



MAN {coiitintied) 

120. 3. Let him, the wiser tn. 

124. 4. like a ;«. in wrath 

124. 6. no 7n. understands 

124. 6. moulding men 

Ep. 32. Result in vi. 

Ep. 35. m. that with me trod 

MANHOOD 

Pro. 4. The highest, holiest m. 

36. I. Tho' truths in ;«. dark- 

ly join 
53. I. Who wears his m. 
109. 5. m. fused with female 
grace 

MANNER 

106. 4. sweeter jnanuers 
III. 4. To noh\& vtanners 

MANTLE 

22. 4, spread his tn. dark and 
cold 

MAPLE 

loi. I. This m. burn itself away 

MARBLE 

67. 2. Thy ;«. bright in dark 

MARCH 

gi. I. the sea blue bird of M. 

MARGE 

12. 3. weeping on the in. 
46. 2. m. to m. shall bloom 
46. 4. warmth from ;«. to tn. 

MARK 

53. 4. push beyond her m. 
87. 8. he Would cleave the ;«. 

MARRIAGE-LAY 

Ep. I. Demand not thou a m. 

MARY 

31. I. home to Mary's house 

MASK 

18. 3. wears the 7n. of sleep 
70. I. hollow masks of night 
105. 3. m. and mime 

MAST 

9. 2. Ruffle thy mirror'd m. 

MASTER 

20. I . Where lies the w. 

37. 6. in the master^s field 

MASTER-BOWMAN 

87. 8. And last the m. 



54 



Index. 



41- 5- 

64. 6. 



62. 3- 



97- 
97- 



115. I. 

103. 6. 

99. 2. 

119. I. 

55- 3- 

48. 3- 

75. I. 

8. 3- 

23. 5- 

24. 2. 

85. 25. 

38. 2. 

37- 3- 



45- 3- 

90. 3. 

92. 2. 

94- 3- 

95. 12. 

99. 4. 

100. I. 

loi. 6. 

104. 3. 

III. 3. 

Ep. 20. 



MASTERDOM 

Contend for loving ni. 

MATE 

be thy in. no more 
that was his earliest in. 

MATTER 

m. for a flying smile 
matters dark and deep 
matters of the house 

MAY 

from M. to M. 
With fifty Mays 

MAZE 

every ;«. of quick 

MEAD 

many a level ;«. 

MEADOW 

meadows breathing of 

the past 
the in. in the street 

MEANING 

secret in. in her deeds 

MEASURE 

m. from the chords 
the in. of my grief 

MEET (verb) 
we two were wont to m. 
all we met was fair 
good and fair we met 

MEETING 

prove A m. somewhere 

MELODY 

melodies of spring 

MELPOMENE 

my M. replies 

MEMORY 

clear m. may begin 
memories half divine 
I hear a wind Of m. 
m. like a cloudless air 
to reach Thro' m. 
Memories of bridal 
m. of my friend 
year by year our m. 
where not a m. strays 
thousand memories ca[\ 
my drooping M. 

MERCHANT 

merchant's bales 



Pro. 

64. 

12. 

85- 

87. 



41. 

loS. 



Pro. 
3- 



129. 
106. 



85. 
113- 
128. 

28. 
67. 
104. 

123- 



MERIT 

in. lives from man to 

man 
by force his in. known 

MESSAGE 

dolorous in. knit below 
this in. falls 

;iCHAEL ANGELO 

The bar of M. 

MIGHT 

wing my will with m. 
yearning, tho' with in. 

MILK 

m. that bubbled 

MILL 

yonder social in. 

MIND 

m. and soul according 
threshold of the m. 
nerves without a in. 
forms the firmer in. 
the fulness from the m. 
thought her m. admits 
with an upward in. 
the in. and will 
to a separate m. 
to wed an equal m. 
a desert in the in. 
a long-forgotten m. 
forms in either in. 
comforting the m. 
in. and art and labor 
growth of noble m. 
she is earthly of the tn. 
MINE (pronowi) 
M.i in. forever, ever in. 

MINSTREL 

ring the fuller in. in 

MINT 

nature's in. 

MISS {verb) 
that miss'^d her most 

MISSION 

Her lavish m. 

A soul on highest m. 

If this weve all your w. 

MIST 

each other in the m. 
I know the m. is drawn 
folded in the in. 
They melt like in. 



Index. 



155 



59- I. 

35- 3- 

Pro. 8, 

120. I. 

106. 4. 

76. I. 

56. 6. 



MISTRESS 

No casual m. 

MOANING 

moajtings of the home- 
less sea 

MOCK {verb) 
We 7n. thee 

MOCKERY 

Magnetic fnockeries 

MODE 

the nobler modes 

MOMENT 

in a ;«. set thy face 

MONSTER 

A ;«. then, a dream 







MONTH 


8S- 
92. 


17- 
3- 


all-assuming months 
tho' the months 

MOOD 


20. 

27- 

35- 

48. 


3. 
I. 
6. 
2. 
2. 
8. 


My lighter moods 
envy not in any moods 
sluggish moods 
harsher moods remit 
harsher moods aside 
in livelier moods 

MOON 


21. 

26. 
28. 


5- 
I. 
I. 


secret from the latest ;«. 
No lapse of moo>is 
The ;«. is hid 


77- 


2. 


moons shall wane 


83. 
89. 


2. 

7- 


the summer moons 
to the brightening m. 


lOI. 

104. 
Ep. 
Ep. 


4- 
I. 

7- 
28. 


The sailing w. 
The w. is hid 
glowing like the ;«. 
rise, ;«. 

MOONLIGHT 


67. 
67. 


I. 

3- 


on my bed the tn. falls 
off my bed the w. dies 



84. 8. 
Ep. 15. 



MORASS 

m. and whispering reed 
MORN 

Calm is the m. 

Rise, happy tn. rise 

holy jn. 
promise of a m. as fair 
symbols of a joyful 711. 



MORNING 

4. with ?«. wakes the will 
2. Never /«. wore 

2. creep At earliest m. 

MOSS 

II. lying couch'd in m. 

MOTH 

3. m. with vain desire 

MOTHER 

4. O ;«. praying 

5. Dear as the m. 

3. on the mother^s face 

4. mothers of the flock 

MOTION 

3. all thy motions 

4. muffled tnotions 

3. vaster motions 

9. kindliest >«. warm 
2. In all her ;«. 

MOULDERING 

2. the ;«. of a yew 

MOUNTAIN-GROUND 

1. misty m. 
MOVE {verb) 

4. jHoving- up from high 

MURMUR 

4. dull'd the ;^2. on thy lip 

3. m. of a happy Pan 

2. A single ;; 

breast 

MURMUR {verb) 

6. I murmur'd, as I came 



the 







MUSE 


37- 


4- 


an earthly M. 


58. 


3- 


The high M. answer'd 


85. 


12. 


all the Muses deck'd 


109. 


I. 


all the imeses'' walk 
MUSE {verb) 


6. 


5- 


tmised on all I had 


116. 


3- 


while I ;«. alone 

MUSIC 


Pro. 


7- 


make one m. as before 


3. 


3. 


all the m. in her tone 


56. 


6. 


Were mellow m. 


70. 


4- 


a wizard ;«. 


77- 


4- 


Shall ring with m. 


87. 


9- 


m. in the bounds of law 


95- 


II. 


.Ionian m. 



156 



Index. 



MUSIC {continued) 



96. 3. 
103. 14. 
Ep. I. 



37- 
128. 



36. 
59- 
65. 
67. 
87. 
Ep. 



he beat his m. out 
A m. out of sheet 
;«. more than any song 

MYRIAD 

unto myriads more 

MYSTERY 

thy prevailing mysteries 
O ye viysteries of good 

N. 

NAME 

Among familiar names 
all blessing to the n. 
tell what n. were thine 
the flames of friends 
the letters of thy n. 
n. was on the door 
sign your names 



3- 


3- 


5- 


I 


41. 


4 


54- 


I 


56. 


4 


69. 


I 


72. 


5 


73- 


2 


79- 


2 


83. 


I 


85. 


22 


109. 


3 



NARCOTIC 

dull narcotics 

NARROWNESS 

Nor ever n. or spite 

NATURE 

all the phantom, N. 
like N. , half reveal 
tho' my 71. rarely yields 
pangs of n. 
Tho' N. , red in tooth 
Natjire'^s ancient power 
cancell'd 7iat7ire's best 
I curse not «. 
like in nature's mint 
expectant n. wrong 
Can clouds of «. stain 
n. amorous of the good 
_. let his coltish «. break 
I. dying Nature'' s earth 
6. hands That reach thro' 



130. 3- 
Ep. 33- 



76. 



mix'd with God and N. 
N. like an open book 

NEARNESS 

Desire of n. 

NECK 

fell in silence on his n. 

NEED 

what had «. of thee 

NEEDLE 

to a needle's end 



24. 
28. 
29. 
60. 
66. 
70. 
72. 
91- 
95. 
95- 

lOJ. 

104. 
105. 
107. 
121. 
126. 



Ep. 

21. 
21. 

125. 

56. 



29- 

Ep. 



NEIGHBOR 

3. the fieighbors met 

4. The foolish 7ieighbors 

NERVE 

2. A weight of nerves 

1. and the tierves prick 

2. all the 71. of sense 

NEW-YEAR 

I. O sweet n. 
4. O thou n. 



wandering isles of n. 
the 71. is still 
threshold of the n. 
At 71. she weeps 
His 71. of loss 
hollow masks of «. 
issuing out of w. 
watches of the «. 
By n. we linger'd 
from me and n. 
On that last n. 
the n. IS still 
the n. I loved 
leaving «. forlorn 
fresher for the n. 
In the deep «. 



NOISE 

I. full of foolish n. 
5. all within was n. 



NOON 

Climb thy thick n. 
the clouded noons 
At n. or when the 

ser wain 
the 71. is near 



76. 



NOTE 

7. her n. is gay 

7. her 71. is changed 

I. some bitter notes 

NOTHING 

I. I care for n. 
NURSE 

4. Gray nurses 
12. on her nurse's arm 

O. 

OAK 

3. lifetime of an o. 



Index. 



157 







OAK 






OUTLINE 


87. 


3. 


pulse of racing oars 

OAT 


s- 


3- 


given in 0. and no more 

OVERTHROWING 


S3- 


2. 


the wild 0. 


"3- 


5- 


With overthrowings 






OCEAN 




OVERWEAR {verb) 


Ep. 


SI- 


and 0. sounds 

OCEAN-MIRRORS 


'• 


4- 


all he was is overworn 


12. 


S' 


o'er 0. rounded large 

OCEAN-PLAINS 






P. 

PAGE 


9- 


I. 


Sailest the placid 0. 
ODOR 


77- 


3- 


the /. that tells A grief 

PAIN 


86. 


4- 


leagues of 0. 


14. 


4- 


tell him all my /. 


17- 


5- 


OFFICE 

So kind an 0. 

Her 0. there to rear 


18. 
21. 
25. 


5- 
3- 
3. 


endures with/, 
parade of /. _ 
lading of a single /. 
slept and woke with/. 


40. 


4- 


28. 


4. 


40. 


5- 


In such great offices 


63. 
77. 
78. 


2. 


set their /«mj at ease 


II I. 


4- 


0. of the social hour 


2. 


mortal lullabies of /. 


128. 


3- 


If all your 0. 


4- 


no mark of /. 






OLD {adj.) 


85- 


22. 


sympathy with/. 


106. 


2. 


Ring out the 0. 






PALE 






OLIVET 


III. 


2. 


thro' the gilded/. 


31- 


3- 


purple brows of 0. 






PALLAS 






ONE 


114. 


3- 


some wild P. 


Pro. 


8. 


help Thy foolish 07ies 






PALM {hand) 


21. 
21. 


7- 
7- 


And 0. is glad 
And 0. is sad 


45- 


I. 


his tender /. is prest 


37- 


5- 


brooding on the dear 0. 






PALM {tree) 






OPIATE 


Ep. 


8. 


palms of paradise 


71- 


2. 


0. trebly strong 






PAN 






ORANGE-FLOWER 


23- 


3- 


murmur of a happy P. 


40. 


I. 


she wears her 0. 






PANE 






ORATION 


72. 


I. 


the streaming/. 


87. 


8. 


The rapt 0. 

ORB 


87. 


2. 


blazon'd on the paties 

PANG 


Pro. 


2. 


orbs of light and shade 


50- 


2. 


pangs that conquer trust 


30. 


7- 


From 0. to ^. 


54- 


I. 


pangs of nature 


34- 


2. 


this 0. of flame 






PARADE 






ORBIT 


21. 


3. 


/. of pain 


87. 


ID. 


orbits heavenly-wise 






PARADISE 






ORCHIS 


Ep. 


8. 


the palms of p. 


83. 


3- 


Bring 0. 






PARDON 






ORE 


8s. 


25- 


I crave your/. 


118. 


5- 


life is not as idle 0. 






PARK 






ORGAN 


98. 


6. 


By/, and suburb 


87. 


2. 


their high-built orga^is 
OTHER {adj.) 


Ep. 


24. 


to roam the /. 

PARLIAMENT 


8. 


4- 


as that 0. wandering 


"S- 


3- 


a potent voice of P. 



58 



Index, 







PARNASSUS 






PAUL 


yi- 


2. 


On thy P. set thy feet 

PART 


120. 


'• 


Like P. with beasts 

PEACE 


65. 


3 


p. of mine may live 


28. 


3- 


P. and goodwill 


85- 


17- 


Can take no/, away 


29. 


I. 


household/. 


128. 


6. 


I see in p. 


34. 


4- 


to sink to /. 








46. 


3- 


in a wealthy /. 






PART {verb) 


58. 


2. 


idly broke the /. 


25- 


3- 


p. it, giving half to him 


80. 


2. 


but stay'd in/. 


Ep. 


12. 


At last must/, with her 


90. 


5- 


pillars of domestic/. 






PARTAKER 


106. 


7- 


thousand years of /. 


41. 


2. 


/. of thy change 






PEAL 








104. 


2. 


A single/, of bells 






PARTING 






PEAR 


97- 


3 


every p. was to die 

PARTNER 


89. 


5- 


the mellowing /mrj 


84. 
97. 


6 
2. 


/. in the flowery walk 
partners of a married 
life 


44. 


3- 


PEER 

ranging with thy peers 

PEOPLE 






PASSENGER 


I, 


4- 


the/, throng 


14. 


2 


thy passengers in rank 

PASSION 


64. 
97- 


4- 
4- 


pillar of a people'' s hope 
the faithless/, say 

PERFECTNESS 


59- 
62. 


3 
3 


My centred/, 
other/, wholly dies 


112. 


I- 


narrower/. 


85. 


13 


my /. has not swerved 






PERFUME 


85- 


19 


my prime/, in the grave 


95- 


14. 


the still /. 


88. 




the passio7is meet 
/. clasps a secret joy 
/. pure in snowy bloom 






PHANTOM 


88. 
109. 


2 
3 


3- 
20. 


3- 
4- 


the /. nature 
noiseless phantoms 






PAST 


108. 


3- 


mine own/). 


24. 


3 


That sets the /. 
. the /. will always win 




PHANTOM-WARNING 


24. 


4 








43- 


2 


silent traces of the /. 


92. 


3- 


prove the /. true 


46. 


2 


landscape of the /. 






PHASE 


62. 


I 


. fading legend of the /. 


65. 


2. 


painful phases 


71- 


J 


Present of the P. 




105. 


4 


hold it solemn to the/. 






PHILOSOPHY 






PASTIME 


23- 

53. 


6. 
4. 


many an old/, 
divine P. 


30- 


2 


At our old pastbnes 






PHOSPHOR 


22. 


I 


PATH 

/. by which we twain 


9- 
121. 


3- 
3. 


till P. bright 
Bright P. 


22. 


3 


where the /. we walk'd 
paths are in the fields 






40. 


8 






PICTURE 


68. 


2 


/. was fresh with dew 


78. 


3- 


mimic picture'^s 


73- 


3 


/. that each man trod 


80. 


3- 


p. in the brain 


84. 


8 


paths of growing pow- 






PILE 






ers 


54- 


2. 


made the /. complete 


23. 


2 


PATHWAY 

where the /. leads 


64. 


4- 


PILLAR 

/. of a people's hope 






PATIENCE 


90. 


5- 


pillars of domestic 


34- 


3 


A little /. ere I die 






peace 



Index. 



159 





PILLAR {continued) 






PLUMELET 


113- 


3- 


/. steadfast 


91. 


I. 


rosy plnmelets 


114. 


1. 


shall fix Her /z7/^rj 






POESY 






PIPE 


8. 


5- 


poor flower of /. 


21. 


I. 


pipes whereon to blow 






POET 






PIPING 


34. 


2. 


some wild P. 


21. 


3- 


with his/, he may gain 

PITY 


89. 


6. 


Tuscan poets 


63- 


I. 


/. for a horse 

PLACE 


87. 


9- 


POINT 

From/, to/. 


3- 
8. 


2. 
2. 


waste places 
all the /. is dark 


99. 


S- 


POLE 

slumber of the poles 


13- 


I. 


Her/, is empty 






POOL 


18. 


2. 


places of his youth 


49. 


I. 


dappled pools 


42. 
44. 
67. 


2. 

4- 
I. 


P. retain us still 
In that high/, 
thy/, of rest 


72. 


1. 


POPLAR 

blow the /. white 


83- 


2. 


from its proper/. 






PORCH 


85. 


28. 


within a lonely/. 


Ep. 


17- 


pelt us in the/. 
They leave the /. 


100. 


I. 


I find no/. 


Ep. 


18. 


102. 


j_ 


well-beloved/. 








105. 


3- 


change of /. 






PORT 

lying in the /. 


106. 


6. 


false pride in /. 


14. 


I. 


108. 


3- 


in the highest/. 






PORTAL 


114. 


4- 


Let her know her /. 
my proper /. 


29. 


3- 


portals of the house 


117. 


I. 








iiS. 


4- 


in higher/. 






POWER 


121. 


5- 


Thy/, is changed 


16. 


4. 


my/, to think 


126. 


3- 


from/, to/. 


26. 


2. 


hath /. to see 






PLAIN 


30- 


7- 


With gather'd /. 


II. 


3- 


yon great/. 


36. 


2. 


dealt with mortal /<7W 


98. 

lOI. 


8. 
3. 


or open /. 

babble down the/. 


64. 


5- 


ers 
his active powers 








75- 


2. 


Hath/, to give thee 


16. 


5- 


PLAN 

mingles all without a/. 


84. 


8. 

27- 


growing poivers 
equal poivers 






PLANE 


87. 


9- 


with /. and grace 


15- 


3- 


/. of molten glass 


96. 
112. 


3- 


P. was with him 
some novel p. 






PLANET 


114. 


4- 


race For/. 


76. 


3. 


darkness of our/, 
trod This /. 


114. 


7- 


grewest not alone in/. 


Ep. 


35- 


124. 

128. 


I. 

5- 


The P. in darkness 
arbitrary p. 






PLANK 


130. 


2. 


some diffusive /. 


14. 


2. 


lightly down the /. 
PLAY i^verb) 


Ep. 


10. 


full of /. 

PRACTICE 


97. 


8. 


For him she plays 
PLEASE {verb) 


75- 


2. 


/. howsoe'er expert 

PRAISE 


6. 


8. 


this will /. him best 


21. 


3- 


/. that comes to con- 










stancy 






PLEASURE 


75- 


I. 


praises unexpress'd 


4- 


3- 


/. from thine early 


75- 


3- 


a little dust of /. 






years 


77- 


4- 


more sweet than /. 


71- 


2. 


my /. may be whole 


84. 


7- 


with honest /. 



6o 



Index. 







PRATE {verb) 






PROMISE 


37. 


I. 


Thou pratest here 


84. 


8. 


/. of a morn as fair 






PRAYER 


85- 


27. 


/. of the golden hours 


17- 


I. 


/. Was as the whisper 






PROPHECY 


32. 


4- 


faithful prayers 

PRESENCE 


92. 


4- 


seem thy prophecies 

PROPHET 


103. 


7- 


/. lordlier than before 


87. 


2. 


prophets blazon 'd 


126. 


I. 


in his/. I attend 






PROSPECT 






PRESENT 


38. 


I. 


My /. and horizon 


71- 


I. 


night-long P. 






gone 


85. 


14- 


in the /. broke the blow 






PROUD 


121. 


5- 


my p. and my past 

PRESENTIMENT 


no. 


2. 


/. was half disarm'd 


92. 


4- 


spiritual presejUiments 

PRESSURE 


46. 


4- 


PROVINCE 

thy /. were not large 

PROW 


119. 


3- 


the p. of thine hand 


9- 


4- 


before the /. 






PRETENCE 


12. 


5- 


play About the /. 


30. 


2. 


vain /. Of gladness 






PSALM 






PREY 


56. 


3- 


Who roll'd the A 


118. 


3- 


/. of cyclic storms 






PULSATION 






PRIDE 


12. 


I. 


wild /. of her wings 


106. 


6. 


Ring out false /. 






PULSE 


110. 


2. 


half disarm'd of /. 


85. 


IS- 


My pulses therefore 






PRIEST 


85- 


19. 


every/, of wind 
/. of racing oars 
pulses of a Titan's heart 


37. 


I- 


many a purer/. 


87. 
103. 


I. 






PRIESTESS 


125- 


4- 


A ihoMSznd. pulses 


3- 


I. 


P. in the vaults of 
Death. 

PRIME 


89. 


3- 


PURLIEU 

dusty purlieus of the 
law 


43. 


4- 


spiritual p. 






PURPOSE 


116. 


I. 


the crescent p. 

PRIMROSE 


56. 


3- 


splendid /. in his eyes 


85. 


y^- 


/. j'et is dear 






Q- 


8s. 


30. 


p. of the later year 






QUARRY 






PROCESS 


100. 


3- 


q. trench'd along 


82. 


2. 


Eternal p. moving on 






QUAY 






PROCURESS 


14. 


I. 


went down unto the q. 


S3. 


4- 


p. to the Lords of Hell 






QUESTION 






PROFIT 


96. 


2. 


a subtle q. 


82. 


3- 


bloom to /. otherwhere 


124. 


2. 


questions men may try 


108. 


2. 


What/, lies 






QUICK 






PROFIT {verb) 


88. 


I. 


the budded q7iicks 


35. 


5- 


What profits it to put 

PROGRESS 


"S- 


I. 


every maze of q. 

QUIET 


98. 


6. 


With statelier/. 


10. 


3- 


Th=s look of q. 



Index. 



i6] 



9- 

17- 

42. 

114- 



74- 
102. 



128. 
Ep. 



93- 3- 



60. 
103. 



103. 
56.. 

71- 

40. 

33- 
61. 

112. 

124. 

31- 

52- 

99. 

106. 

84. 
100. 
103. 



R. 

RACE [running) 
my widow'd r. 
. my widow'd r. 
. outstript me in the r. 
. in her onward r. 
RACE (generation ) 
. to some one of his r. 
. one of stranger r. 
. great r. which is to be 
. herald of a higher r. 
. races may degrade 
. the crowning r. 

RAGE 

. void of noble r. 

RAIN 

;. the drizzling r. 
!. in emerald r. 

RANGE 

thy sightless r. 

RANK 

r. exceeds her own 
ranks Of iris 
the scale of ranks 
RAPT {verb) 
So r, I was 



RAVINE 

With r. 

REACH 

the river's wooded 

REALM 

realms of love 



countest r. ripe 
r. change replies 
art r. why 
reason'' s colder part 

RECORD 

lives no r. of reply 
What r. ? 

RED iadj^ 
thro' thy darkling r 

REDRESS 

r. to all mankind 

REED 

What r. was that 
whispering r. 
golden r. 



36. 

108. 

92. 

78. 



8. 

29. 

40. 

78. 
102. 
115. 
116. 
116. 
Ep. 
Ep. 



REEF 

round the coral r. 

REFLEX 

r. of a human face 

REFRACTION 

r. of events 

REGION 

No wing of wind the r. 
swept 

REGRET 

my deep r. 

chains r. to his decease 

light regrets 

O lastr., r. can die 

one pure image of r. 

r. Becomes 

r. for buried time 

Not all r. 

a dead r. 

R. is dead 

REJOICE [verb) 
\ r. ; \ prosper 

RELATION 

Her deep relations 

RELIC 

precious relics 

RELIEF 

sets the past in this r. 
so to bring r. 
REPLY {verb) 
but he Replying 

REPORT 

bring me this r. 

REPROACH 

Thro' light reproaches 
REST {repose) 

sway themselves in r. 

want-begotten r. 

surely r. is meet 

thy place of r. 

this hour of r. 
REST {remainder) 
, r. remaineth unreveal'd 

perchance among the r. 



RESULT 

4. the long r. of love 
4. the large results 
force 



Of 



l62 



hidex. 





RESULT {continiied) \ 






RIVAL 


85. 


23- 


that serene r. of all 


102. 


5- 


rivals in a losing game 


128. 


3- 


results that look like 






RIVER 






new 


71- 


4- 


the river's wooded reach 






RETURN [verb) 


103. 


2. 


A r. sliding by the wall 


40. 


6. 


often she herself r. 








89. 


12. 


returning from afar 






RIVULET 

pastoral r. 






REVEILL^E 


100. 


4- 


68. 


2. 


R. to the breaking 






ROAM {verb) 






morn 


17- 


3- 


wherever thou may'st r. 






REVERENCE 






ROBE 


Pro. 


7- 


more of r. in us dwell 


84. 


9- 


her earthly r. 


">!. 


2. 


such r. for his blame 








84. 
114. 


8. 


r. and the silver hair 






ROCK 


7- 


In r. and in charity 

RHINE 

you will see the R. 


97- 
131- 


I. 
I. 


talk'd with rocks 
Rise in the spiritual r. 


98. 


I. 


98. 


8. 


ROCKET 

r. molten into flakes 






RHYME 








76. 
106. 


I. 

5- 


modern r. 

my mournful rhymes 


102. 


I. 


ROOF 

The roofs, that heard 


Ep. 


6. 


idle brawling rhymes 






ROOK 






RIB 


15- 


I. 


rooks are blown 


107. 


3- 


Its lea.less ribs 

RIBAND 


85. 


18. 


the noise of rooks 

ROOM 


6. 


8. 


takes a r. or a rose 


87. 


4- 


rooms in which he 

dwelt 
finest all the r. 






RICH 


112. 


2. 


79- 


5- 


But he was r. 






ROOT 






RIDGE 


2. 


I. 


roots are wrapt about 


71- 


4- 


the mountain r. 

RILL 


115. 


1. 


by ashen roots 

ROSE 


37- 


2. 


beside thy native r. 


72. 

QI. 


3- 
3- 


the r. Pull sideways 
many roses sweet 


Ep. 


29. 


the glancing rills 






RING 


95- 


IS- 


Tlie heavy-folded r. 


87. 


7- 


pierce an outer r. 


Ep. 


9- 


foretold the perfect r. 


Ep. 


14. 


The r. is on 






ROSE-CARNATION 






RINGLET 


lOI. 


2. 


many a r. feed 


6. 


9- 


to set a r. right 






ROUND 






RIPENESS 


34- 


2. 


This r. of green 


81. 


3- 


gave all r. to the grain 

RIPPLE 


47- 


'■ 


Should mov'e his rounds 

RUBBISH 


49- 


3- 


seeming-wanton r. 
RISE {verb) 


54- 


2. 


cast as r. to the void 

RUNLET 


15- 


5- 


rises upward always 


100. 


4- 


r. tinkling 


41. 




r. from high to higher 








92. 


4- 


often rises ere the'y r. . 






S. 


Ep. 


23- 


They r., but linger 






SADNESS 






RITUAL 


83. 


2. 


s. in the summer moons 


18. 


3- 


the r. of the dead 


96. 


5- 


s. fli".gs Her shadow 



Index. 



163 



12. 3. 

13- 5- 
15- 3- 



37. 6. 

117- 3- 

35- 6. 

32. 3- 



SAIL 

sails at distance rise 
the approaching ja//j 
every milky s. 

SAILOR 

the J. at the wheel 
the s. to his wife 

SANCTITY 

darken'd sanctities 

SAND 

every grain of s, 

SATYR-SHAPE 

in his coarsest S. 

SAVIOUR 

the Saviour's feet 

SAY i^verb) 
" It will be hard " 

they s. 
perfect as I s. 
Might I not J. 
Could I have said 
thou too canst s. 
Whatever I have said 







SCALE 


III. 


I. 


Along the s. of ranks 

SCHOOL 


IIO. 


3- 


put himself to s. 

SCIENCE 


21. 
120. 
120. 


5- 
2. 
2. 


kS". reaches forth 
Let 6". prove we are 
What matters 3". 

SCOFF 


69. 


3- 


I met with scoffs 

SCORN 


26. 
69. 
96. 
I2S. 


4- 
3- 

6. 


from my proper s. 
I met with scorns 
with no touch of j. 
my J. might well 

SCYTHE 


89. 


5- 


The sweep of s. 

SEA 


17- 
26. 


I. 

4- 

3- 

19. 


over lonely seas 
over Indian seas 
homeless j. 
to-night beside the s. 

SEAMEW 


115. 


4- 


Where now the s. pipes 



2. 2. 
22. 2. 



38. 2. 
[I3. I. 



23. s- 

97. 6. 



55- 3- 
90. I. 
Ep. 34- 

Pro. 4- 
97. 6. 

127. 2. 



30. 2. 

73- 2. 

78. 2. 

85. 10. 



78. 3- 
126. 3. 



34- 4- 
tio. 2. 



SEASON 

seasons bring the flow- 
er 

crown'd with all the s. 
lent 

the blowing s. 

served the seasons 

SEA-WATER 

The salt s. 

SECOND 

She is the .r. 

SECRET 

Her J. from the latest 

moon 
the s. of the Spring 
the 5. of the star 

SEE {verb) 
I s. thee what thou art 
more than I can s. 
what I J. I leave 
I shall not 5. thee 
sees himself in all he 

sees 
here we s. no more 

SEED 

of fifty seeds 
This bitter s. 
is but s. 

SEEM {verb) 
seemest human 
He seems so near 

SEINE 

fool-fury of the S. 

SELF 

Of their dead selves 
In her deep s. 

SENSE 

with an awful s. 
blindfold s. of wrong 
J. of something lost 
the s. of human will 
where the senses mix 
Cry thro' the s. 

SENTENCE 

I hear the s. 

SENTINEL 

hear at times a s. 

SERPENT 

the charming s. 
Nor cared the s. 



164 



Index. 



46. 2. 

48. 2. 

66. 2. 

93. 2. 
Ep. 24. 
Ep. 26. 
Ep. 30. 



SERVANT 

20. I. as servants in a house 

SERVE {verb) 
103. 12. We j^rz/^^ thee here 

SERVICE 

20. 2. Another 5. such as this 

SET {verb) 
59. 4. And J. thee forth 

SETTING 

130. I. in the s. thou art fair 

SEVERN 

19. I. Danube to the S. gave 
19. 2. twice a day the 6". fills 

SHADE 

there no s. can last 

slender j. of doubt 

s. by which my life 

No visual s. 

A s. falls on us 

J. of passing thought 

with J. the bridal doors 

SHADOW 

s. of a lark 
s. of a heaven 
S. fear'd of man 
S. sits and waits for me 
6". cloak'd 
S. waiting 
mute 6". watching all 
tender-pencil'd 5. play 
found your shadows 
His own vast j. 
sadness flings Her s. 
105. 4. petty shadows cast 

SHAKESPEARE 

61. 3. The soul of 6". 

SHALLOP 

103. 5. where a little s. lay 

SHAME 

37. 3. touch of s. 

51. 2. some hidden j. 

72. 7. hide thy 5. 

109. 6. My s. is greater 

SHAPE 

70. 2. palled sluipes 

95. 3. filmy shapes 

103. 4. s. of him I loved 

118. 7. To f. and use 



76. 



19. 

35- 

61. 

70. 

83. 

84. 

85- 

87. 
103. 
124. 
Ep. 



SHEAF 

that binds the s. 
the ungarner'd s. 

SHEEPWALK 

s. up the windy wold 

SHELF 

a cragg}' s. 

SHELL 

shells of hollow towers 

SHIP 

Fair s. 
A great j. 

SHOAL 

shoals of pucker'd faces 

SHOCK 

the s. so harshly given 
diffused the .y. 
the shocks of chance 
With thousand shocks 
the shocks of doom 
shall suffer j. 

SHORE 

from the Italian s. 
by the pleasant s. 
that forgetful s. 
the doubtful s. 
on boundless shores 
upon the northern s. 
To the other 5. 
from the quiet i-. 
paced the shores 
vaster grew the 5. 
an ever-breaking s. 
all the happy shores 

SHOT 

s. ere half thy draught 



6. 3- 

SHOUT 

87. 3. the distant s. 

SHOWER 

86. I. Sweet after 5/i^w^rj 

SIDE 

51. I. near us at our s. 

52. 2. move me from thy s. 
80. I. kindly from his j. 

103. 10. lift her shining sides 

103. II. Up the J. I went 

114. 5. moving J. by .y. 

Ep. 18. its sunny s. 



Index. 



165 



35- 4- 

108. I. 

119. 3. 

66. 2. 



13- 


2. 


19. 




SO- 




TS- 




94- 




95- 




103. 


II 


Ep. 


22. 



Ep. 39. 

Pro. 9. 

5- I- 

48. 3. 

52- 4- 

54. I- 

96. 6. 



21. 6. 

30. 6. 

57- I 

103. 3 



Pro. 



SIGH 

answer with a s. 
Nor feed with sighs 
witli scarce a j. 

SIGHT 

him whose s. is lost 

SIGNET 

set his royal s. 

SILENCE 

S. till I be silent too 
makes a s. in the hills 
And J. followed 
shall J. guard thy fame 
the s. of the breast 
strangely on the 5. 
fell in .?. on his neck 
tho' in s. wishing joy 

SILVER 

Their sleeping s. 

SIN 

what seem'd my j. 
hold it half a s. 
holds it s. and shame 
dash'd with flecks of s. 
sins of will 

SINAI 

Sinai s peaks of old 

SING {verb) 
s. to him that rests 
s. because I must 
Once more we sang 
To s. so wildly 
sang of what is wise 



SIRE 

5. the yet-loved s. 

SISTER 

4. sisters of a day gone by 

2. Leave thou thy j. 

SIT (verb) 
I. alone to where he sits 

3. hand-in-hand Sat silent 
r. and there he sits 

8. I myself who sat apart 

SKIRT 

1. skirts of self 

2. skirts of happy chance 

SKULL 

2. s. which Thou hast 
made 



12. 3. 

15. 1. 

17. 2. 

38. I. 

66. 4. 

72. 6. 

95- I- 

95- 3- 



4. I. 

II. 5- 

18. 3- 

30. 5- 

43. I- 

68. I. 

68. 4- 

71. I. 

22. 3. 

27- 3- 

99- 5- 

62. 3- 

127. 5. 



39- I- 
69. I. 



95. 8. 

22. I. 

78. I. 

105. 2. 

106. 2. 
IIS- I. 

lO. 4. 



SKY 

glow of southern skies 
blown about the skies 
the bounding s. 
under alter'd skies 
dreaming of the s. 
s. with flying boughs 
o'er the s. The silvery 

haze 
in fragrant skies 
gazed upon the s. 

SLANDER 

The civic s. 

SLEEP 

To .y. I give my powers 

silver s. 

wears the mask of s. 

their s. is sweet 

If S. and Death be 

truly one 
6". Death's twin brother 
That foolish s. transfers 
vS". kinsman thou 

SLOPE 

fifth autumnal s. 

SLOTH 

weeds of s. 

SLUMBER 

the J. of the poles 

SMILE 

matter for a flying s. 
SMILE (verb) 
smilest knowing all is 
well 

SMOKE 

living s. 

black with s. and frost 

SNARE 

thro' wordy S7iares 

SNOW 

from .y. to s. 

The silent 5. 

under other snows 

across the s. 

last long streak of s. 

SOD 

beneath the clover s. 



SOIL 

S3. 2. The s. left barren 



1 66 



Index. 



38. 
65. 



6. 5- 



31- 

77- 

78. 

Ep. 



Pro. 

6. 

85. 

90. 



23- 

30. 
37- 
38. 
38. 
49- 
52. 
57- 
11- 
76. 
76. 
77- 
83. 
87. 
95- 
9Q- 

102. 

105. 

107. 

"S- 

n6. 

125. 

Lp. 
Ep. 



3- 
16. 




19. 




21. 




23- 




28. 




39- 




49- 


4 



SOLACE 

doubtful gleam of s. 
in that s. can I sing 

SOMETHING 

A", it is that thou hast 

lost 
.y. written, .y. thought 
'Tis well ; 'tis j. 
or J. seal'd The lips 
changed to j. else 
sense of s. lost 
To s. greater 

SON 

Strong S. of God 
thy gallant s. 
the sons of flesh 
Yea the' their sorts 

SONG 

breaking into s. by fits 
A merry s. we sang 
To lull with s. 
songs I love to sing 
songs I sing of thee 
slightest air of .r. 
thy plaintive s. 
the J. of woe 
the breeze of s. 
the matin so7igs 
thy songs are vain 
on songs and deeds 
a fresher throat with s. 
noise Of sottgs 
we sang old songs 
s. that slights 
its matin s. 

Be neither s. nor game 
son^s he loved to hear 
a sightless s. 
songs, the stirring air 
s. were full of care 
the spirit of the s. 
embalm In dying songs 
the songs I made 
SOOTHE (verb) 
influence-rich to s. 

SORROW 

s. cruel fellowship 

s. such a changeling be 

1 brim with s. 
sorrow'' s barren song 
sometimes in my .s. shut 
.v. touch'd with joy 

6". fixt upon the dead 
the s. deepens down 



103. 
126. 



109. 5. 

Pro. 7. 

5- I- 

32. 4. 



3- 



SORROW {continued) 

1. OS. wilt thou live 

2. O S. wilt thou rule 

\. O s., then can s. wane 

1. the s. in my blood 

}. Be dimm'd of .y. 

\. s. under human skies 

\. that .y. makes us wise 

[. that .y. makes us wise 

\. less of s. lives in me 

SORT 

in such a s. 
SOUL 

mind and 5. according 

conceal the S. within 

souls possess them- 
selves 

garden of the semis 

the dawning .y. 

the general s. 

The eternal j. 

the sweetest s. 

a s. of nobler tone 

Sweet 5. 

thro' a lattice on the s. 

such credit with the .y. 

while the s. exults 

takes us as a single s. 

O crown'd s. 

His living .y. was flash'd 

count as kindred souls 

The feeble .y. 

careless eye On souls 

s. on highest mission 

s. in s. 

s. shall draw from out 
the vast 

SOUND 

between me and the s. 
fill'd with joyful j. 
.y. of streams 
s. of that forgetful 

shore 
with roaring s. 
O J. to rout the brood 



SOURCE 

The very s. 



SPACE 

2. The round of s. 
7. in grander s. 

3. ■ 



the worlds of 



117. 3. 



SPAN 

everv j. of shade 



Index. 



167 



37- 3- 
116. 3- 



96. 4- 



23- 4- 
85. 2r. 
95- 12. 



9. 2. 
83. 3- 



60. 2. 
122. 2. 



SPEAK (z/^r3) 

I can s. a little then 
harshly will he s. 
not worthy ev'n to s. 
Still s. to me of me 

SPECTRE 

spectres of the mind 

SPEECH 

wed itself with S. 
dear words of human j. 
matter-moulded forms 
of s. 

SPEED 

a favorable s. 

SPEEDWELL 

speedweWs darling blue 

SPHERE 

his proper s. 
A s. of stars 

SPICE 

With summer s. 







SPIKENARD 


32- 


3- 


With costly s. 

SPIRE 


83. 
27. 


3- 
3- 


bring the foxglove s. 
the spires of ice 



17- 


2. 


20. 


5- 


28. 


5- 


38. 


3- 


40. 


I. 


41. 


I. 


42. 


3. 


43. 


I. 


47- 


4- 


52. 


2. 


52. 


3- 


56. 


2. 


60. 


I. 


61. 


3 


82. 


2. 


84. 


9- 


85. 


21. 


86. 


4- 


88. 


2 


91. 


2 


93- 


I 


93. 


2 



SPIRIT 

A .S". , not a breathing 

voice 
I in s. saw thee move 
the vital spirits 
my troubled s. 
spirits render'd free 
Spirits breathed away 
s. ere our fatal loss 
the spirifs inner deep 
spirifs folded bloom 
the spirits fade away 
The ^. of true love 
keeps a s. wholly true 
s. does but mean 
My s. loved and loves 
I loved thee, ^S". 
the s. walks 
Thy J. should fail 
Thy s. up to mine 
A hundred spirits 
employ Thy spirits 
I know Thy s. 
No s. ever brake 
he, the .S". himself 



94. 

94. 

97- 
102. 
105. 
123. 
125. 
127. 
Ep. 

98. 
Ep. 

89. 
98. 
Ep. 



44. 
64. 
go. 

69. 
1x5. 

16. 

82. 



SPIRIT (^continued) 
2. 6". to S., Ghost to 

Ghost 
2. call The spirits 
2. s. is at peace with all 
2. of my s. as of a wife 

2. spirits oi a diverse love 
5. the s. breathes 

3. in my j. will I dwell 
3. the s. of the song 

5. While thou dear s. 
20. all my genial spirits 

SPLENDOR 

2. all her s. seems 
30. let the s. fall 

SPORT 

3. our simple sports 

7. loud With J. and song 

6. the J. of random sun 



SPOT 

3. every pleasant j. 
SPRING (season) 

5. the secret of the S. 
I. would be S. no more 

18. S. that swells 

50. not unlike to that of 6". 

SPRING {/oiiutaifi) 
3. Lethean springs 

6. beside its vocal springs 
I . the inviolate s. 

SQUARE 

3. in the public squares 

1. the flowering squares 
STAGGER {verb) 

4. And staggers blindly 

STALK 

2. the shatter'd stalks 
STAND {verb) 

I. ungather'd shall it s. 

STAR 

stars, she whispers 
bosom of the stars 
orb into the perfect s. 
a brooding j. 
grapples with his evil s. 
drench the morning s. 
yonder orient s. 
the crimson-circled s. 
secret of the .r. 
the polar s. 
the shaping of a s. 



3- 


2. 


17- 


4- 


24- 


4- 


46. 


4- 


64. 


2. 


72. 


6. 


86. 


4- 


89. 


12. 


97- 


6. 


01. 


3- 


103. 


9 



1 68 



Index. 







STAR (contmued) 






STRAIT 


130. 


2. 


in .r. and flower 


84. 


10. 


the dolorous s. 


Lp. 


8. 
31- 


brighten like the s. 
s. and system 


lOI. 


5- 


STRANGER 

the stran£-er^s child 




STATE {condition) 


104. 


3- 


like strangers' voices 


14. 


4- 


sorrow o'er my s. 


X05. 


I. 


the stranger'' s land 


24. 


3- 


lowness of the present s. 






STREAK 


64. 
82. 


I. 


second s. sublime 
From J. to J. 


115. 


I. 


last long s. of snow 


2. 








85- 


6. 


above our mortal s. 






STREAM 








36. 


3. 


sound of streams 




STATE ^kingdom) 


89. 




the s. beneath us ran 


64. 


3- 


mighty state s decrees 


115- 


3- 


On winding s. 


89. 


9- 


changes of the s. 






STREAMLET 






STATUE 


79. 


3. 


the same cold s. 


103. 
Ep. 


3- 

4- 


stood A s. veil'd 
like a s. solid-set 


7- 




STREET 

long unlovely s. 






STAY [verb) 


7- 


3- 


on the bald s. 


12. 


2. 


I cannot s. 


31- 


3- 


streets were fill'd 


120. 


2. 


I would not J. 


69. 




streets were black 






STEAM 


123. 


I. 


where the long s, roars 


89. 


2. 


s. of town 






STRIFE 








50- 


4- 


term of human j. 


38. 
95- 


I. 

II. 


STEP 

With weary steps 
the steps of time 


85. 
106. 


14. 
4- 


to handle spiritual s. 
forms of party s. 

STRING 






STEPPING-STONES 


87. 


7- 


slackly from the s. 


'■ 


1. 


men may rise on s. 
STERN {adj.) 


88. 


3- 


command the strings 
STRIVE {verb) 


no. 


3- 


The J. were mild 


96. 


2. 


strove to make it true 






STILE 


113- 


2. 


To s., to fashion 


100. 


2. 


simple s. from mead 






STROKE 






STILLNESS 


39- 


I. 


my random s. 


85- 


20. 


A part of s. 






STRONG {adj. ) 


123. 


I. 


s. of the central sea 

STONE 


73- 


'■ 


s. as thou wert true 

STUDENT 


2. 


I. 


graspest at the stofies 


128. 


5. 


the s. at his desk 


39- 


1. 


graspest at the stones 








56. 


I. 


quarried j. 






SUGGESTION 


108. 


I. 


lest I stiffen into s. 

STORE 


95- 


8. 


S. to her inmost cell 

SUIT 


81. 


2. 


hope of richer s. 


85- 


15- 


can it s. me to forget 


Ep. 


21. 


s. of happy days 






SUMMER 






STORM 


17- 


4- 


balmy drops in s. dark 


72. 


i_ 


lash with s. 


85. 


iS. 


S. on the steaming 


87. 


2. 


s. their high-built or- 
gans 
Well roars the s. 


91. 


3- 


floods 
summer'' s hourly-mel- 


127. 


j^ 






lowing change 






95- 


I, 


silvery haze of s. 






STRAIN 


105. 


7- 


the .y. in the seed 


IS- 


3- 


could brook the j. 


Ep. 


5- 


summers that are flown 



Index. 



169 







SUMMIT 






SYMPATHY 


103. 


2. 


From hidden sutnmits 


30. 


6. 


their mortal s. 








63. 


2. 


I spare them s. 


103. 


4- 


SUMMONS 

a s. from the sea 


85. 


22. 


painless j. with pain 

SYSTEM 






SUN 


Pro 


5 


Our little systems 


2. 


3- 


branding summer sutis 








3- 


2, 


the dying j. 






T. 


24. 


2. 


first ^S". arose and set 








72. 


2, 


the splendor of the J. 






TABLET 

/. glimmers 


75- 


4- 


breathe beneath the j. 


c^7- 


4- 


84. 


7- 


s. by s. the happy days 


Ep. 


13- 


Their pensive tablets 


117. 


3. 


the courses of the j. 






TABLE-TALK 


121. 




the buried s. 


84. 


6. 


genial t. 


130. 


I. 


the rising j. 








Ep. 


6. 


random ^. and shade 






TACT 


Ep. 


20. 


greet a whiter s. 

SUNBEAM 


no. 


4. 


The graceful t. 

TAINT 


15- 


2. 


s. strikes along 


54. 


I. 


taints of blood 


91. 


4- 


where the i". broodeth 






TALE 






SUNDOWN 


12, 


I. 


a t. of woe 


41. 


5- 


s. skirts the moor 






TALK 








109. 


I. 


discursive t. 






SUNFLOWER 








lOI. 


2. 


Unloved the s. shining 






TALK {verb) 








71- 


3- 


we t. as once we talk'd 






SUNSHINE 


90. 


3- 


To t. them o'er 


10. 


4- 


the J. and the rains 


107. 


5- 


t. and treat Of all 








Ep. 


25- 


t. of others 






SURFACE 








49. 


2. 


sullen s. crisp 


10. 


5- 


TANGLE 

toss with t. 




SWALLOW-FLIGHTS 








48. 


4- 


short ^. of song 


121. 


2. 


TEAM 

t. is loosen'd 






SWEETNESS 


121. 


4- 


moving of the t. 


35- 


4. 


change my j. 






TEAR 


64. 
83. 


5- 
2. 


secret s. in the stream 
s. from its proper place 
Not mine the s. 


I. 
13- 


2. 


far-off interest of tears 
Tears of the widower 


110. 


S- 


19. 


3. 


When fill'd with tears 






SWEEP 


20. 


3- 


tears that at their foun- 


89. 


5. 


s. of scythe 






tain freeze 








40. 


3- 


tears are on the moth- 






SWEEP [verb) 






er's face 


Ep. 


24. 


But siveeps away 


58. 


3- 


a fruitless t. 


128. 


4- 


SWORD 

sheathe a useless s. 


72. 

78. 
78. 


3. 
4. 
5- 


With thy quick tears 
No single t. 
Her tears are dry 






SYCAMORE 


90. 


3- 


a kindly /. 


89. 


I. 


towering s. 






TELL {verb) 


95- 


14. 


large leaves of the s. 


31. 


2. 


tellmg what it is to die 






SYMBOL 


40. 


7- 


t. them all 


^^5- 


24. 


grief with sytnbols play 
Mute symbols 






TEMPEST 


Ep. 


IS- 


17- 


4- 


t. mars Mid-ocean 



I70 



Index, 



16. 



85. 12. 



Pro. 


6 


I. 




3- 




7- 




13- 




14. 




21. 




34- 




35- 




37- 




40. 




44- 




45- 




52. 




60. 




73. 




78. 


2. 


85. 


8 


85. 


25- 


97- 


8. 


107. 


5- 


III. 


4- 


120. 


3- 



Pro. 

45- 
100. 
Ep. : 



46. 
69. 



70. 2. 



TENANT 

tenatits of a single 
breast 

TENDERNESS 

All-comprehensive t. 

TERM 

t. of human strife 

THEME 

glanced from t. to /. 

THEW 

the the%vs of Anakim 

THICKET 

all the t. rang 

THING 

things we see 

higher things 

a il. so blind 

like a guilty ^. 

strange do these thifigs 

seem 
ask a thousand things 
ye speak an idle /. 
thitigs all mortal 
so sweet a /■. 
things divine 
new things 
earthly things 
the things I touch 
the t. beloved 
a z*. so low 
such things to be 
over all tilings 
all things round me 
these things pass 
a thousand things 
treat Of all things 
seem'd the /. he was 
born to other things 
watchest all things 
think the t. farewell 

THINK (verb) 

thinks he was not 

made 
thought that " this is I " 
1 1. once more he seems 
all we thought and 

loved 

THORN 

t. and flower 

I took the thorfts 

THOROUGHFARE 

shadowy thoroughfares 







THOUGHT 


6. 


9- 


with the t. her color 
burns 


13- 


3- 


An awful t. 


23- 


4- 


T. leapt out to wed 
with T. 


23- 


4- 


Ere T. could wed itself 


32. 


I- 


Nor other t. 


32. 


3- 


All subtle t. 


36. 


3- 


all poetic t. 


49- 


2. 


lightest wave of t. 


52. 


I. 


topmost froth of i. 


65. 


2. 


a happy t. 


84. 


I. 


fix my thoughts 


85. 


8. 


thoughts were little 
worth 


90. 


6. 


one lonely t. 


94. 


I. 


whose t. Avould hold 


19- 


3- 


in my thoughts with 
scarce a sigh 


22. 


4- 


thoughts of life 


22. 


5- 


t. breaks out a rose 



83. 4 



64. 


3- 


91. 


I. 


87. 


2. 


9?: 
103. 
112. 


4- 

6. 

10. 

4- 


40. 
126. 


6 
I. 



THREAD 

he plays with threads 

THRESHOLD 

t. of the mind 
t. of the night 

THROAT 

flood a fresher t. 

THRONE 

thrones of civil power 
whisper of the t. 

THRUSH 

the mounted /. 

THUNDER-MUSIC 

And t. rolling 

TIDE 

The t. flows down 
double tides of chariots 
forward-creeping tides 
vassal tides 

TIDINGS 

t. of the bride 
t. of my friend 

TIGER 

7. let the ape and t. die 

TIME 

4. Come T., and teach 

5. A t. to sicken 

5. that T. could bring 



Index, 



71 



28. 


I. 


29. 


4- 


43- 


4- 


44- 


2. 


50- 


2. 


52. 


4- 


59. 


3- 


72. 


5- 


84. 


10. 


85. 


7- 


85. 


17- 


85. 


29. 


104. 


I. 


105. 


2. 


105. 


3- 


107. 


2. 


113- 


4. 


Ep. 


6. 


gP- 


23- 


Ep. 


35. 



41. 6. 



78. 
8. 



26. 
no. 



56. 



TIME {continued) 
The t. draws near 
Before their t. 
he loved me here in T. 
Gives out at times 
t. a maniac 

When t. hath sunder'd 
leave at times to play 
struck down thro' t. 
What t. mine own 
the cycled times 
Which masters T. 
seeks to beat in /. 
The t. draws near 
There in due t, 
like growth of t. 
t. admits not flowers 
when the t. has birth 
out of weaker times 
the t. draws on 
ere the times were ripe 



TIPS 

3. kindled at the tips 

TITAN 

8. pulses of a Titan^ 
heart 

TO-BE 

all the secular T. 

TO-DAY 

thinking, here /. 

TOIL 

after t. and storm 
t. cooperant 

TOKEN 

t. of distress 

TOMB 

plant it on his t, 

TO-MORROW 

here /. will he come 

TONE 

in divers tones 
t. and tint 

TONGUE 

fickle tongues 
his double t. 

TO-NIGHT 

he will see them on t. 

TOOTH 

red in t. and claw 



6. 



15- 
26. 

128. 

Ep. 



^p'; 



84. 8 



TOUCH 

no /. of change 
take The t. of change 
t. of earthly things 
If such a dreamy t. 
with no /. of scorn 
forever at a t. 

TOWER 

lessening towers 
dash'd on t. and tree 
towers fall'n 
a feudal t. 
Dumb is that t. 

TOWN 

the noisy t. 

at random thro' the t. 

din and steam of t. 

if I praise the busy t. 

any mother t. 

the silent-lighted /. 

TRACE 

traces of the past 

TRACK 

t. Whereon with equal 

feet 
down this lower t. 

TRACT 

tracts that pleased us 
lifelong t. of time 
in the t. of time 
tracts of calm 
tracts of fluent heat 



26. 
95- 

95- 

123. 
Ep. 



TRAIN 

t. of bounteous hours 

TRANCE 

1. some long t. 

II. my ^. Was cancell'd 
TRANSFER {verb) 

26, t. The whole I felt 

TRAVELLER 

2. The t. hears me 

TREE 

gazing on thee, sullen t- 

the moulder'd t. 

trees Laid their dark 

arms 
trees Laid their dark 

arms 
where grew the t. 
on the trees The dead 

leaf 



1/2 



Index. 







TRIFLE 






TURN {verb) 


66. 
6g. 


I 
I 


with any t. pleased 
chatter'd trifles 

TRIUMPH 


41. 
68. 


2. 

3- 


turtCd to something 
I t. about 

TWILIGHT 


no. 


4 


felt thy t. was as mine 


50- 


4- 


t. of eternal day 






TROTH 


79- 


3- 


that roam the t. 


27. 


3 


that never plighted t. 


11. 


2. 


TWINKLE {verb) 
twinkled into green 


4. 


4 


TROUBLE 

clouds of nameless t. 

An inner t. 

t. in thine eye 

t. of my youth 

t. live with April days 


33- 


4- 


TYPE 

for want of such a t. 


41- 

68. 


5 


55- 


2. 


So careful of the t. 


3 


56. 


I. 


So careful of the t. 


68. 
83. 


4 

2 


4: 


I. 

35- 


thousand types are gone 
a noble t. 






TRUE 








56. 


5- 


battled for the t. 






U. 


Ep. 


I. 


t. and tried 






UNCLE 






TRUMPET 


84. 


4- 


babbled" Uy 


96. 


6. 


t. blew so loud 






UNDERSTAND 








97- 


9- 


I cannot tt. ; I love 






TRUST 








85. 


3- 


t. in things above 






UNITY 


116. 


2. 


to hearten /. 
TRUST {verb) 


42. 


I. 


It was but 7i. of place 

UNLIKENESS 


Pro. 


6 


t. it comes from thee 


79- 


5- 


As his u. fitted mine 


Pro. 


10 


I t. he lives in thee 






UNREST 






TRUTH 


IS- 


4- 


wild 7/. that lives 


Pro. 


II. 


where they fail in t. 






URANIA 


I. 


I. 


I held it i. 


37- 


I. 


U. speaks 


18. 


2. 


it looks, in t. 






URN 


33- 
36. 
36. 


3- 
I. 
2. 


a t divine 

trtiths in manhood 

t. in closest words 


9- 

95- 


2. 
2. 


his holy u. 

the fluttering u. 


36. 


2. 


/. embodied in a tale 






USE 


42. 


3- 


reaps A t. 


5- 


2. 


u. in measured lan- 


53. 


3- 


preach it as a t. 






guage 


68. 


4- 


I discern the t. 


45- 


2. 


«. of " I " and " me " 


85. 


I. 


This t. came borne 


45- 


4- 


this «. may lie in blood 


125- 


2. 


so fix'd in t. 


78. 


5- 


with long 7i. her tears 


127. 


2. 


social t. 






are dry 


131- 


3- 


truths that never can 


105. 


3. 


bond of dying u. 






be proved 


III. 


6. 


soil'd with all ignoble «, 






TULIP 






V. 


83. 


3. 


deep tulips 






VAPOR 






TUMULT 


107. 


I. 


bank Of V. 


75- 


5- 


t- of acclaim 


Ep. 


28. 


the shining v. sail 


87. 




t. of the halls 






VASE 

deep V. of chilling tears 


127. 


5- 


O'erlook'st the t. 


4- 


3- 






TUNE 






VASSAL 


97- 


3. 


have beat in i. 


48. 


2. 


makes it v. unto love 



Index. 



173 







VAST {adj. ) 






VOICE 


76. 


3. 


shall wither in the v. 


28. 


2. 


voices of foui- hamlets 






VASTNESS 


28. 


3- 


Each V. four changes 








30. 


4. 


our voices rang 


97- 


2. 


In V. and in mystery 

VAULT 


30- 


6. 


z/f/r^j took a higher 
range 


72. 


7- 


up thy V. with roaring 


35- 
37- 


I. 


V. that man could trust 
many an abler v. 






sound 


56. 


7- 


V. to soothe and bless 






VEIL 


69. 


4- 


The V. was low 


30- 


7- 


from V. to V. 


69. 


5- 


V. was not the v. of 

grief 
V. the richest-toned 


56- 
67. 


7- 
4. 


Behind the v. 

V. from coast to coast 


75- 


2. 


89. 


13- 


the woodbine v. 


99. 


I. 


z/i?zc^j of the birds 








104. 


3- 


strangers' voices 






VERGE 


1x6. 


3- 


V. I once have known 


50. 


4. 


low dark v. of life 


121. 


4- 


voices hail it 








124. 


3. 


I heard a v. " believe 






VERSE 






no more " 


75- 


I. 


V. that brings myself 


127. 


I. 


V. across the storm 






relief 


130. 


I. 


V. is on the rolling air 








130. 


4- 


circled with thy v. 






VICE 


131. 


2. 


A V. as unto him that 


3- 


4- 


like a v. of blood 

VIENNA 






hears 

VOID 


85. 


5- 


in Vienna's fatal walls 


13- 


2. 


A V. where heart on 


98. 


3- 


I will not see V. 




heart reposed 






VIEW 


54. 


2. 


cast as rubbish to the v. 


33. 


2. 


her happy views 






\iyN 


75- 


5- 


out of human v. 


20. 


I. 


thousand tender vows 


92. 


3- 


and bared to ?v., A fact 


79- 


4- 


we proffer"d vows 






VIGOR 


97- 


8. 


plighted vows 


95- 


8. 


V. bold to dwell 

VILENESS 






W. 

WAIN 


SI- 


I. 


inner v. that we dread 

VILLAGE 


lOI. 


3. 


the lesser w. 

WALK 


60. 


3- 


little V. looks forlorn 


8. 


4- 


those deserted walks 






VIOLET 


84. 


6. 


the flowery w. 


18. 


I. 


V. of his native land 


87. 


4- 


that long w. of limes 


97. 


7- 


A wither 'd v. 






WALK {verb) 


105. 


2. 


The V. comes 


68. 


2. 


I w. as ere I walk'd 


IIS- 


I. 


the znolets blow 


71. 


3. 


walking as of old we 
walk'd 


lis- 


S- 


Becomes an April v. 










VIRTUE 






WALL 


82. 


3- 


use of V. out of earth 


19. 


4- 


its wooded walls 


85- 


4- 


Your words have v. 


87. 




the reverend walls 








Ep. 


16.' 


The blind w. rocks 






VISION 


Ep. 


30- 


the roof, the w. 


92. 


I. 


If any v. should reveal 








103. 


I. 


dream'd a v. of the 






WAN 






dead 


72. 


5- 


As isj. , as chill 



174 



Index. 







WANDER {verb) 






WAV {continued) 


8. 


4. 


other wanderings there 


85. 


II. 


whatever w. my dayi 


23- 


2. 


I w., often falling lame 






decline 


89. 


2. 


hither wander mg down 

WANT 


103. 


5- 


but lead the w. 

WEAKNESS 


33- 


4- 


for w. of such a type 


21. 


2. 


would make w. weak 


79- 


5- 


supplied my w. 


S5. 


13- 


works of w. 


98. 


4- 


a thousand watits 


no. 


9- 


forgot his w. 


J 06. 


5- 


Ring out the w. 






WEALTH 


III. 


2. 


His w. in forms 


52- 


4- 


thy w. is gather'd in 






WAR 


79- 


5- 


my w. resembles thine 


103. 


9- 


sing the death of w. 


Ep. 


26. 


w. Of words and wit 


106. 


7- 


thousand wars of old 






WEB 






WARDER 


3- 


2. 


w. is wov'n across 


39- 


I. 


Old w. of these buried 






WEED 






bones 


27- 


3- 


the weeds of sloth 






WARMTH 


73- 


3- 


dim, with weeds 


46. 


4- 


A rosy w. 






WEEK 


84. 
95- 
124. 


2. 
1. 
4- 


A central w. 

genial w. 

w. within the breast 

WASSAIL 


17- 

80. 


2. 

3. 


W. after w. the days 

goby 
burthen of the weeks 


105. 


5- 


nor bowl of w. mantle 

WASTE 


119. 


I. 


WEEP {verb) 

not as one that wee^s 


22. 


5- 


somewhere in the w. 






WEIGHT 

a w. of nerves 






12. 


2. 






WATCH 


25- 


2. 


I loved the w. 


91. 


4- 


in watches of the night 


55- 


4. 


my w, of cares 






WATCH {verb) 


63- 


I. 


no w. upon my heart 






Ep. 


10. 


that w. Of learning 


63. 


3- 


may'st thou iv. me 






WELCOME 


74. 


I. 


To those that w. it 


85- 


6. 


gave him w. there 






WATER 


90. 


2. 


An iron w. 


15- 


2. 


the waters curl'd 






WELL 


17- 


3- 


waters day and night 


10. 


5- 


roaring wells 


58. 




drop by drop the w. 


108. 


2. 


wells of death 


67. 


I. 


broad w. of the west 








130. 


I. 


where the waters run 






WEST 








'5- 


5- 


dreary w. 






WAVE 






WHEAT 


II. 


5. 


waves that sway 






w aves of w. 
belts of w. 


19. 
19. 


I. 

4- 


hearing of the w. 
the w. again Is vocal 


91. 

98. 


3- 
I. 


49. 


2. 


lightest w. of thought 






WHEEL 


89. 


12. 


within the glooming w. 


50. 


I. 


wheels of Being 


122. 


3- 


a fuller w. 

WAV 


117. 


3- 


kiss of toothed wheels 

WHISPER 


6. 


6. 


met him on his w. 


17- 


I. 


w. of an air 


22. 


2. 


cheer'd the w. 


64. 


3- 


w. of the throne 


26. 


I. 


winds the dreary w. 


79- 


3- 


whispers of the beau- 


49. 


3- 


go thy w. 






teous world 


60. 


3- 


the household ways 


81. 


2. 


This haunting w. 


77- 


4- 


My darken'd ways 


85. 


23- 


lightly does the w. fall 



Index. 



75 



S9- 
Ep. 
Ep. 



Pro. 
4- 

4. 
41. 
54. 
70. 

85. 
110. 

131. 



87. 3. 



Ep. 

Ep. 



WHOLB 

I. seems a separate iv. 
I. living iv. 

WIDOWER 

I. tears of the w. 

WIFE 

I. but a TV. 

7, made a iv. ere noon 

[3. waiting to be made a iv. 

WILL 

4. Our 74////J are ours 

I. my IV. is bondsman 

4. wakes the iv. 

3. wing my w. with might 
I. sins of IV. 

4. beyond the iv. 

[Q. sense of human w. 

5. imitative iv. 
I. O living IV. 

WILLOW 

Among the willows 
"wilt thou" 
The " TO." answer'd 
The "w." ask'd 



WIND 

g. 4. Sleep gentle winds 
15. I. ivinds begin to rise 
28. 3. changes on the w. 
30. 3. winds were in the 

beech 
49. 3. blame not thou the 

winds 

2. No wing of w. 

3. winds that roam 
19. every pulse of w. 

2. I hear a w. 
14. TO. began to sweep 
I. a passing to. 

WIND {verb) 
95. 10. mine in his was wound 

WINE 

37. 5. sacred w. 
90. 3. when warm with to. 
[07. 4. fetch the w. 

WINE-FLASK 

89. II. TO. lying couch'd in 
moss 

WING 

9. I. Spread thy full wings 
13. 5. time to rise on TO. 
48. 4. Their wings in tears 



78. 

79- 

81. 

92. 
103. 
108. 



39- 

54- 
78. 

Pro. 
36. 



28. 



Si- 
xes. 


3- 
4 


109. 


6. 


112. 


I 


113. 


I 


114. 


5 



98. 2. 



WING {continued) 
lightsome to. 
wi7igs of fancy 
wings of foresight 
no TO. of wind 
stronger wings 

WINTER 

growing winters 

every to. 

winters left behind 

wisdom 
. in Thy to. make me 
wise 
IV. dealt with mortal 

powers 
There must be to. 
"Whatever TO. sleep 
Nor let thy to. make 
High TO. holds my to. 
how much to. sleeps 
side by side With to. 
IV. heavenly 

wise 
circle of the to. 
, likeness to the to. 

wish 

, on his way With wishes 

. TO. that of the living 

whole 

cries against my w. 

. TO. too strong for words 

wish (verb) 
. wisK'd no more to 
wake 

WISP 

TO. that gleams On 
Lethe 

WITCH-ELM 

Witch-elms that coun- 
terchange 

WOE 

muffled round with to. 
imaginative to. 
would prelude to. 
attributes of w. 
in TO. and weal 

WOLD 

this high TO. 
windy w. 

WONDER 

wonders that have 



1/6 



Index. 



27. 


I. 


35- 


6. 


69. 


2. 


85. 


18. 


86. 


2. 


89. 


8. 


105- 


7- 


107. 


3. 



Ep. 24. 



105. 2. 



99. 2. 
115. 2. 



«9- 3- 
36. 3. 



S- I- 

5. I- 

5- 3- 

16. I. 

18. 5. 



48. ; 

52. 1 

58. 3 

69- f 

75- 2 

85. ^ 

85. 4 

85. 21 

93- 4 

95- 7 

95- 9 

95- 12 

125. 3 

128. 4 

Ep. 13 



57- 2. 

85. 13- 

114. I. 

117. I. 

118. I. 
118. 4. 



WOOD 

summer woods 
batten'd in the woods 
w. with thorny boughs 
waning woods 
dewy-tassell'd w. 
distant woods 
by yonder w. 
w. which grides 
To range the woods 

WOODBINE 

the w. blows 

WOODLAND 

woodlands holy 
Now rings the 7V. 

WONT 

Use and M^. 

WORD 

the /F. had breath 

WORD 

to put in words 
words like Nature 
in words like weeds 
What words are these 
words that are not 

heard 
out of words a comfort 
she sports with words 
My words are only 

•words 
In those sad words 
The words were hard 
fitting aptest words 
O true in iv. 
Your words have virtue 
words of human 

speech 
too strong for words 
silent-speaking words 
So w. by w. 
Vague words 
words were sweet 
the bearing of a 7v. 
living words of life 

WORKING 

in narrowest w. shut 

WORK 

my w. shall fail 
to works of weakness 
Let her IV. prevail 
your w. is this 
this w. of Time 
type this w. of time 



Pro. 8. 

15. 2. 

21. 5. 

33- 4- 

43- 3- 

55- 4- 



62. 
64. 
73- 
75- 
79- 
95. 

105. 

114. 

116. 

121. 

124. 

126. 

129. 



29. 
73- 



57- 
71- 
103. 



Pro. 9. 

82. 3. 
95- 7- 



WORK i^verb) 

one that with us works 

WORLD 

Help Thy vain worlds 
strikes along the w. 
To feel from w. to ^v. 
fail not in a w. of sin 
total w. since life began 
world's altar-stairs 
breathes a novel w. 
a world's desire 
So many worlds 
w. which credits 
the beauteous lu. 
pulsations of the w. 
Of rising worlds 
I would the great w. 
made the w. so fair 
the world's great work 
found Him not in w. 
the worlds of space 
mingle all the w. 

WORM 

not a w. is cloven 

WORTH 

What seem'd my w. 
transplanted human w. 
To test his w. 

WRAITH 

hollow w. 

WRATH 

w. that garners 
a man in w. 

WREATH 

Make one w. more 
miss'd an earthly w, 

WRONG 

we do him w. 
sense of w. 

1 did them w. 

WYE 

the babbhng W. 
The IV. is hush'd 



YEAR 

SO forecast the years 
years of gloom 
teach me m2iT).y years 
four sweet years 



Index. 



177 



28. 


4- 


30. 


4 


44- 
46. 


3- 
3 


52- 


3. 


59- 
67. 
81. 


4- 
2. 
2, 


91. 


2, 


92. 
95- 


3- 
6. 


106. 


7- 


106. 


2. 


106. 


7- 


109. 


3. 


no. 


I. 


114. 
116. 


7- 
I. 


Ep. 


2. 
3- 



YEAR {continued) 
This J/. I slept 
sang with him Last_j'. 
long harmonious ^^a^'j 
and those five years 
not the sinless jj'^'izr^ 
hope ior years to come 
number of thy years 
More years had made 
unaccomplish 'd years 
within the coming^. 
y. which once had 

been 
gift of years before 
The y. is dying 
The y. is going 
Ring in the thousand 

years 
years of April blood 
rathe and riper years 
byjf. and hour 
And meets the j/. 
the conquer'd_y^^ri' 
thrice three years 







YEARNING 


108. 
116. 


2 
4- 


And vacant y. 
y. for the friendship 

YEW 


2, 

39- 
76. 


I. 
I. 

2 


Oldjf. which graspest 
dark J)/, that graspest 
mouldering of ay. 

YIELD 


102. 


5 


will not^. each other 

YOUTH 


18. 
53- 

125. 


2 
I 
3 
4 
3 

2 


places of his J)/. 
Whose jt'. was full 
outliving heats of y. 
trouble of m^ y. 
y. and babe 
laboring in hisjf. 
never lost her jj/. 

YULE 


28. 


5 


merry bells of V. 

YULE-CLOG 


78. 


2 


y. sparkled keen 



f 




014 546 565 5 ^ 



